


Journey to the Past...

by coplins



Series: Packrunners [51]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: (Meaning AU-OC canonical death), Afterlife, Alcohol, Cannibalism, Drug Use, Drugs, F/M, Ghosts, Health problems, I Don't Even Know, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Pack Politics, Packrunner canonical character death, Rating May Change, Scent Marking, Scents & Smells, Self-defensive cannibalism, Snipings, Supernatural Elements, Tags May Change, The Hale Pack - Freeform, Visions, Vomiting, i guess?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:55:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 37
Words: 297,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21527911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coplins/pseuds/coplins
Summary: Dick is happy with his new life. It comes with its own set of challenges, but for all the crap he'd given Packrunning, he truly enjoys running in a pack. He loves all of the other pack members and everything is going well. But some days he finds himself thinking about the could-have-should-have-would-haves and missed opportunities. He thinks about the one that got away: Aiden.Dean can't let go of the past he was never part of. He's focused on healing his pack and reclaiming what was lost. So when an opportunity presents itself to right a past wrong, he convinces Sasha to go on a roadtrip with him.
Relationships: Dick Roman/Original Characters
Series: Packrunners [51]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/896610
Comments: 309
Kudos: 125





	1. The Charlatan

**Author's Note:**

> The first chapter takes place during the summer before Sam starts college. 
> 
> Okay, so. This is a self-indulgent side-story that kept haunting me. It's been with me since I finished Marlon's Story and simply won't let itself be forgotten. It has no major impact on the main plot so I kept putting off writing it because nobody would want to read about it anyway. Except, I've told myself that about many of my stories. So, when I realised I could parallel two completely different journeys and by doing that could bring some actual meaning to the story, I finally had my excuse to write it. 
> 
> Tags and rating might change.
> 
> A huge thank you to my betas Lisa and Melina! <3<3<3

* * *

Sam and Dean love market days. Dick's gone to the slums with them for this several times, always with a slight feeling of trepidation. He doesn't want to run into Peter. He's not sure how either of them would react, but he's barely started to get used to having a scent and, whether good or bad, he fears Peter's reaction to it.

Both the Winchesters are good at haggling and measuring the worth of the wares they're interested in. Dean will sometimes give more than the asking price if the thing is handcrafted and he appreciates the artistic talent of the maker. Both of them are avid traders as well. "I'll give you this bracelet for that sweater," and so on. Mike came along with them the last time and the trading baffled him since they had the money to pay for the goods.

Today, it's just the pack’s Omegas at the market, though, and the Winchesters have come across something interesting, the worth of it they don't know how to measure.

Dick saunters closer to stand behind Sam and Dean while they listen to the woman who's intent on scamming them. She's wearing layers of fringed shawls embroidered with strange symbols. She's wrapped herself in several belts and necklaces, all adorned with small animal skulls, bones and glass 'stones'. He's certain she's trying to come off as an old crone even if she can't be much older than Gabe. She's holding up a small fabric bag with more strange symbols. Dick recognizes the contents by its pleasant, sweet scent.

"So you're telling me that herb can get you in touch with the dead, huh?" Dean says, too curious to sound as sceptical as he's trying to come across. "Since when doesn't salting and burning a letter do the trick anymore?"

The charlatan smirks slyly. "I'm sure it does. But how often do your loved ones write back?"

Sam’s completely intrigued. Dean’s expression and scent are shifting through a range of emotions, finally landing on anger that he manages to keep off his face. “Yeah, no. Hard pass.”

It’s surprising to Dick. Dean’s the one most regularly in contact with the dead, writing letters to Cas as well as his mother, Aiden, Phillip, Arvid and Laurent. To others too, Dick’s certain. If anyone would crave answers from the dead, it would be Dean. Yet, Dean backs away with a disgusted look on his face and moves on to the next set of stalls.

Sam, on the other hand, remains standing with avid interest in his expression. “How does it work?” he asks.

The charlatan motions for him to come closer. Mock-whispering as if she’s revealing a secret she describes a ritual that entails chanting a certain spell, common meditation breathing exercises, drinking valerian tea and burning her “magical herb” along with sage, sandalwood, and hazel. That would open your “third eye” so you can see and talk to those who’d passed to the other side.

Poor, sweet, Sam―normally not very gullible―gobbles it all up, hook, line, and sinker. “So… I could talk to my mom? Even if I never got to meet her in life?” he asks with wide eyes.

“Oh, yes,” the charlatan assures. “As long as there is an emotional connection between you and the one you seek to communicate with, there’s no problem. If you seek to contact a stranger, you need to burn something that belonged to them, or a part of them, along with the rare, magical herb.”

“And how much does it cost?”

“700. But for you, I can let it go for 500 bucks.” 

Dick nearly chokes on his tongue hearing what price she wants for the “magical herbs”. He’s expecting Sam to tell her to take a piss in a head-wind, but Sam reaches for the wallet in his back pocket. Dick has to step in to stop this nonsense. He walks up to stand next to Sam, smiling pleasantly at the charlatan. “Pray tell me, dear,” he says to her, “what do the Hales have to say about you selling drugs on their territory for ten times the street value?”

Sam frowns and puts his wallet back. The charlatan smiles. “You’re mistaken, good sir. This is―”

“Knock-weed,” Dick interrupts. “Yes, I can tell. There’s nothing wrong with my sense of smell, dear.” He smiles wider, teething his canines, eyes getting sharp.

The woman’s scent starts bearing traces of anxiety. “I have permission to sell whatever I want to sell. You don’t have to worry about that, sir,” she says with a fake smile.

“Wonderful. Then I’m sure you don’t mind if I call a couple of friends to corroborate that, do you?” Dick doesn’t give her a chance to answer before he starts making the Hale pack distress call.

The effect is instant.

Vendors duck down behind their stalls, customers take off running in all directions or crouch down flaring, licking their lips and covering their heads with their hands. Sam and Dean drop fangs, flaring, ready to fight. Dean looks around with a confused frown, trying to understand why Dick’s making another pack’s call and unsure what monster he’s supposed to be fighting. Sam growls threateningly at the charlatan who now reeks of terror. She thrusts the little bag in Dick’s hands. “Here! Take it! It’s a gift! Please! Just don’t, don’t― _please!_ ”

Dick clips the call on and off a couple times to declare a ‘stand down’. The charlatan’s on the verge of tears, trembling. He smiles at her. “That’s awfully nice of you, dear. Now, I suggest you pack up your things and leave before the Hales get here. And I’d be very careful about trying to scam people on their territory again. Next time, they’ll be on the lookout for you,” he lies.

“Thank you, sir,” she says with a quavering voice, then grabs the corners of the cloth where her wares are laid out, quickly collecting them and tying them together into a makeshift bag, then she takes off running.

Dick turns to Sam and Dean, pocketing the bag of drugs in his thin summer jacket. “Would you mind if we left the area? I’m not of a mind to stick around for questioning when the Hales show up, as I’m sure they will, having heard a stranger call for them.”

“Yeah, no. Let’s scoot,” Dean agrees.

* * *

Once they’ve left the area and crossed into a safer zone they slow down. “What the hell was that about?” Dean demands. He’s still battle-ready, glaring murder at anyone they pass.

“She was scamming me,” Sam says glumly.

“Quite right,” Dick adds. “She was trying to sell Sam a common drug for ten times its normal street value. That’s something the Hales wouldn’t stand for back in my days and I’m sure that hasn’t changed, so I called for them.”

“Drugs?” Dean asks, starting to calm down.

“I feel like an idiot. What’s knock-weed anyway?” Sam asks.

“A potent hallucinogen, I’ve been told. But it makes you apathetic and unaware of your surroundings for hours. I’ve leisurely picked the pockets of many knockers in my youth. Sometimes they’re aware you’re there, following your actions with their gaze without lifting a finger to stop you. Oddly, their bodies seem to work just fine. If you push them and tell them they can’t stay where they are, they’ll obediently shamble off.”

“You ever tried it?” Sam asks.

“Knockers? That’s what you call those who use it? Is it like, whasitcalled, cannabis?” Dean asks.

Dick chuckles. “No, I’ve never tried it. I was much too paranoid to lower my guard enough to take drugs. And yes, dear, knockers are what we call them. But no, it’s not from the same plant family as cannabis, even if both drugs have weed in their names.”

“I can’t believe I let myself be fooled,” Sam frets.

“It’s nothing to beat yourself up about. If you’ve never come across a certain situation, then you have no reference for it,” Dick consoles. “But a little tip for the future, anything sold at the markets in that area should be priced far less than 100 dollars. The only exception is at the docks where you have newly arrived people. Although, if they’re selling something truly valuable, they always have guards.”

“I knew that fucking bitch was tryin’ to screw us,” Dean growls. “Fucking scum.”

“Oh, about that, dear. I’m curious. You often write your loved ones on the other side,” Dick says, looking curiously at Dean. “Why weren’t you tempted by the offer? Wouldn’t you want them to answer back? ”

“Are you kidding me?” Dean scoffs a little too loudly, adrenaline still flowing from his anger. “If they’ve passed on they’re at peace. That’s why you have to salt and burn the letters, right? So the letters can cross over to _them_. Who knows what happens if you rip your loved ones through the veil to visit ya? Maybe it’s fucking painful? What if they get stuck on this side and can’t get back after your little chat, but, since you needed to drug yourself to see them, once you sober up you think they’re gone but really they’re still here and scared or angry and all alone. Maybe time in this realm saps at their souls until they fade away to nothing and never go back? We don’t fucking know until we’re dead ourselves. Yeah, no. Nu-uh. I ain’t taking that chance. If the dead wanna visit me, it’s up to them. I ain’t gonna make them. Period.”

Dick hums thoughtfully.

“So what should we do now? The rest of the guys won’t be home for hours, and I don't feel like going home just yet,” Sam says.

“The weather is nice. We could go for ice-cream in the park and people watch,” Dick suggests. 

Ice-cream eating turns into a game of chase in the park. Dick didn’t play much as a kit. He often sat hidden, watching other kits and Juvies at play, chasing each other and making up silly games. He’d thought he was too old to enjoy this type of care-free rambunctiousness, but he’s not. Both the Williamses and the Winchesters are prone to blowing off a little steam like this, having grown up with siblings and adults to keep watch over them while they let their guard down. He soon forgets about the contents of his jacket pocket. A hard tackle by Sam takes him to the ground. The arm of his jacket snags on a bush and tears in the fall. Dick’s far too busy laughing and rolling away in the grass to care.

At home, he rediscovers the tear and makes a note to himself to stitch it at some point. He knows he won’t. He’ll end up buying a new one instead. But the little slum-kit in him likes the jacket and rebels at the thought of throwing it away. Here there’s no Crowley to scoff and tell him to get rid of it, so he puts it on a hanger and hangs it in the very back of his walk-in closet. The knock-weed has a faint, but pleasant smell, and none of the boys seem to think anything of it. 

Dick soon grows accustomed to the slightly sweet smell in his closet, no longer noticing it or remembering why it’s there, so the drug remains forgotten…

* * *


	2. The Journey Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick is unexpectedly left to himself at home for a full weekend. Except, a Packrunner is never truly alone...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) Two boys starting out on two very different journeys to the past.  
> I'm currently writing on 4 WIPs at the same time because I'm an idiot. That means, that even if I'm making good progress on all of them, it'll take longer before any of them is done. Whelp. That's what you get for choosing to read the works of an overenthusiastic writer. ;)
> 
> Hope y'all are having a good time. We had our first snow here today and the dog was delighted. :D
> 
> Big thanks to my betas Lisa and Melina for helping me out! <3

“Are you sure you don’t wanna come? Me n’ Sash are gonna play poker. He won’t mind another player.”

Dick rubs his temple affectionately against Dean’s cheek. “I’m certain, dearheart. Back when I lived with Crowley, I was alone so often, I craved company. Now, I’m never alone, so having the whole house to myself for an entire evening feels like a luxury.”

A lopsided smirk grows on Dean’s face. “Yeah? You want me to stay away the whole weekend? I could go on a roadtrip with Sasha.”

Dick can smell the budding excitement on Dean, and automatically shares it. Since Dean called the pack meeting and put his foot down, so much has changed. Dick’s absolutely fascinated with his new job in politics, and he enjoys working so closely with their devious Patriarch. The boys have turned their dinner-day duties into a competition which, in hindsight, they all should have seen that coming. It started when Gabe made individual cakes for each of them, tailored to their tastes and beautifully garnished. He'd made both standard dessert cakes, and, more suitable for dinner, a Swedish sandwich cake. He'd then proceeded to tease his brothers about how much better he was at their challenge than the rest of them. Since then, all of them bring their A game for their dinner day. (With varied results.) Even better, Dean’s lit a spark inside of himself that Dick hadn’t known was missing since Dean’s always been positive and high energy - but now Dean’s soul burns bright. He’s working constantly, just like the rest of the pack, but he’s working on his own projects. He’s reduced his hours at HQ, but he keeps himself busy. It’s been quite lovely to see him come alive. Like a well-trained dog finally being let off the leash to run free.

“That’s a lovely idea,” Dick answers. “I’m certain I will enjoy the solitude as well as hearing about your adventures when you get back.”

Dean grins. “Far out. Then I’ll do that.” His expression goes soft, and he reaches out to cup Dick’s cheeks with both hands, then leans in to kiss him chastely. “Call me if you need anything, you hear?”

Dick tries not to laugh. If there’s anyone in the pack capable of taking care of himself, it’s Dick. But, nevertheless, it feels good to know that he doesn’t have to. “I will, dearheart.”

“Good. I love you,” Dean says, placing another chaste kiss on Dick’s lips.

“I love you too. Now, begone before your Siberian starts wondering if you changed your mind,” Dick says and shoos Dean out the door. Dean sniggers and throws him one final kiss before skipping down the stairs.

Dick locks the door and stands, leaning his forehead against it for a while, listening to the silence in the apartment. It’s the first time in months he’s been home alone for more than a couple of hours. Even the cat is away, traveling with the Williams boys. Not that he lacks solitude, should he wish for it. If he tells the pack he wants privacy, they don’t come upstairs. Quite frankly, he finds their living arrangements ideal. But there’s a certain luxury to having the whole apartment all to himself once in a while. Well. _Mostly_ to himself. “I guess it’s just you and me now, Aiden,” he says to the door before turning around. “I’m sure you won’t mind a couple of days with only me for company.”

Marlon still talks to Aiden sometimes when he thinks he’s alone. Not like Dean when he writes his letters, but as if he’s having an ongoing conversation. Dick’s heard him say, “Go hump a cactus, Aide. That’s not how I meant it, and you know it.” Dick doesn’t think Marlon really hears Aiden, he’s just having an internal dialogue with the brother he loves and misses, the one who always served as his moral counterpart. Nevertheless, Dick’s become very aware that everyone else in the pack is certain that Aiden and Castiel are often in the apartment with them, dead or not.

At first, it made Dick a bit uncomfortable, but, as pack life grew on him, so did the thought. Now he’ll talk with Aiden sometimes when he’s alone. "So. What to do? Maybe I should go down to the gym and practice with that awful contraption Dean loves so much? Then I'll reward myself with champagne in the jacuzzi. As always, you're welcome to join me, dear."

In the beginning, he'd felt stupid, talking to the dead. He's gotten over it, though it makes him wistful. He understands Dean. Dean's described a longing, a feeling of nostalgia for a time he hadn't experienced, missing people he's never met. Dick feels it too. The difference is that he feels it for a man he knew and loved - the one that got away. Aiden. He wonders if they'll have a second chance in the afterlife.

He changes clothes, grabs a champagne flute and a bottle of champagne, then heads down to the gym. After he's warmed up, he tackles the gauntlet. It's awful and difficult, even if he only sets part of it in motion. He's always considered himself a good fighter―skills he learned the hard way, growing up in the slums―but it's irksome to realise that, as good as he is, he's still the worst fighter in the pack. It really demonstrates what a difference there is between receiving formal training by experienced soldiers from an early age versus learning through necessity and chance. Dick’s always relied on stealth and deception, not even Marlon, the former spy, comes close to matching Dick’s skill here. But, in a one-on-one encounter, where the opponent is prepared, confrontation is inevitable and escape isn’t an option? Dick has _a lot_ to learn.

It's quite something to watch the boys spar against multiple opponents. It's not all that different from dancing, except a mistake brings pain (or maiming and death, come to think of it) rather than humiliation. Luckily, they wear protective gear when they practice. Dick finds it surprising that Michael can show so much grace, agility and speed in his fighting, but his dancing is mediocre at best. 

Dick's determined to better his skill to match his mates, hence he tortures himself with the gauntlet for more than two hours before he gives up. His forearms and the outside of his legs will be bruised tomorrow from blocking. He doesn't mind the bruises. The rough, often painful playfulness of his Primal lovers falls well within his tastes. While traveling with Marlon, a lot of their lovemaking is initiated by impromptu wrestling matches. A lot, but certainly not always. They often go out dancing in the evenings, until their clothes are drenched in sweat and they’re more than a little aroused. Dancing usually leads to more conventional lovemaking.

He takes a shower, starts the jacuzzi, lights a couple of candles, puts on some soft piano music, then pours himself a glass of champagne and sinks down in the warm, bubbly water with a soft sigh. He sips his champagne and closes his eyes. Sometimes when he’s down here alone he can feel the hand of an imaginary lover glide up the inside of his thigh. He feels it now, and spreads his legs to give Aiden room to come closer. It’s silly. It’s probably just the bubbles, but he finds comfort in it. Dick’s overactive imagination now conjures up the body of a phantom lover resting between his legs, a pressure on his chest as the ghost settles on top of him. He purrs contentedly. “I found out what Dean’s project is,” he says without opening his eyes. “In an effort not to be overbearing and controlling, Marlon hasn’t asked Dean about it. It’s a mistake on his behalf, and I should tell him, or urge him to ask, but I don’t want to. I have this perverse curiosity to see how he reacts, since it’s going to cause a political clash with the Talons.” He chuckles to himself. “I should also tell Dean that, but, again, I don’t want to. After seeing what he did to the Scorpios, I’m curious to see his reaction when the Talons start throwing threats around. It’s not like he’s keeping it a secret from the pack. I know for a fact that Gabe is waist-deep in the muck with Dean, and Dean’s asked advice from all of us, Marlon included. He just hasn’t specified what the advice was for.” He doesn’t bother telling Aiden what Dean is doing. Aiden probably knows. If not, he can be surprised along with the rest.

Dick remains quiet for a long while, just sipping his champagne and enjoying the soak. “I’m falling in love with your brother,” he discloses. “Such a complicated man. So broken, afraid and damaged, it’s a wonder he managed to raise four kits to become confident, content, and stable individuals with only minor issues. And yet…” He pauses and lets his thoughts drift. “He’s a man to my taste - Conservative by day, Primal by night. Devious and intelligent, generous and loving.” Dick would be terrified of Marlon―more so than he was before he got to know the man well―if Marlon wasn’t a man who didn’t prioritise his loved ones above all else. “I’m surprised we haven’t developed a mating bond. I don’t want us to. Yet. I’m enjoying this prolonged courtship far more than I thought I would. Everything I do with my mates, I do with Marlon, but we don’t have a mating bond. That’s the only difference.” Dick thinks that perhaps a bond hasn’t formed because neither of them wants it to happen. They may each have different reasons in mind, but, still, it wouldn’t matter if they never formed a mating bond. What they currently have is the equivalent of a Progressive mateship.

Dick finishes half the bottle before he deems himself ready to go upstairs.

He towels himself dry, but doesn’t bother with clothes before going upstairs. When he gets to his rooms, he switches on the TV to let the news play in the background, goes to his walk-in closet to take out pyjamas. Once in there, he sees a pair of pants lying in the back, too stained to be salvaged. He frowns at the pants for a moment. Crowley would make a sarcastic remark about them and roll his eyes at whatever excuse Dick gave for not throwing them away. But here, there is no Crowley. Dick heaves a sigh. "I guess I have to be responsible for my own belongings now, huh?" he complains while sending a thought of affection to his former mate. Their friendship has returned to something much more amicable since the split. The bitterness has faded, and with it, the mean jabs.

He goes to get a couple of cardboard boxes and finally takes on the task of sorting out everything he doesn't need. He starts with the good clothes. Suits that show a bit of wear and ones he isn't too fond of, shirts in colours he no longer likes, sportswear that’s no longer in fashion, jackets with holes in their pockets. Luci and Mike are both fun shopping companions, and, as a result, the contents of his wardrobe have grown steadily since he moved in. There are clothes he'll turn in to be mended by his tailor, but anything that doesn't fall into that category goes into the boxes. 

In the background, the same news story that's been talked about for days is discussed on the TV. Professor Przodownik, employed by a University in Louisiana is fucking his student. The pair have pack bonded which makes it political dynamite since the Professor risks losing his job and the student is supposedly a Conservative. The question is, can you fire a Patriarch for fucking their Main? Dick's been following the story with interest since Marlon, frowning, said he recognized the professor but couldn't place him. There's no new information so Dick switches the TV off to devote his full focus to his task.

In the back of his closet are the clothes that should have been thrown away a long time ago. Those, he pats down to empty the pockets of forgotten change, bits of trash and any personal items before placing them in the box. He does find loose change, receipts, a knife, two pens, and a fabric bag with strange symbols containing knock weed. He huffs at the memory of how it got there, then dumps his haul on his nightstand. Once he's gone through the closet and finished his sorting, he calls security downstairs and asks them to deliver the boxes to the docks in the slums. He never bothers with non-profit organizations since most of them sell the donations and pocket the gains. This way, the slum-dwellers can loot the boxes and everything will end up with the people who need it. Even the boxes themselves will be considered free real estate for some. 

Hector and Serkan, two of their guards, take the elevator to his floor as instructed, and together they carry the boxes away. After that, Dick leaves them to solve the transportation. The Williams’ home security detail isn’t just guards. They're fixers. No matter how shady the request, the solution is one phone call away. Dick rarely make use of it, but he appreciates the privilege. 

Finally done, he pours himself another glass of champagne and stands looking at his now roomy closet. "Well. I'd say we've earned ourselves a nice weekend of self-pampering. Wouldn’t you agree, dear?" he asks Aiden.

He grabs the book he bought last week and brings it with him to bed. It's a mystery novel in Finnish. He often reads books in foreign languages to keep his skills up to date. It also creates a certain appearance of intimidating intelligence that Dick is happy to cultivate. But tonight there’s no one to impress, this is for his own pleasure. 

Again, he spots the small fabric bag of drugs. He stops by his bedside and stares at it. "I wish you were still alive, Aiden. I love your nephews, but you know how I feel about you. I wish we could have had this."

Dick sighs and lays down. He starts reading, but over and over he finds his gaze straying to the bag of drugs. What if…?

It's ridiculous. You can't speak to the dead. But he amuses himself by pondering the possibility. What if the Charlatan was right? How would it work? Dean thinks that you'd rip the dead from their side of the veil, but couldn't the opposite be equally true? Maybe it's _your_ soul that passes over? Not theirs? Everyone ends up beyond the veil sooner or later. Getting stuck in the afterlife too soon wouldn't be half as bad as the dead crossing over and getting stuck here. 

It's not like it matters. It's all bogus anyway.

But what if it's not…?

He'd get to talk to Aiden…

If he wasn't tipsy on champagne; and if he wasn't alone, without witnesses to his folly; and if he didn't have guards to keep him safe, then he'd probably have waved off the notion as soon as it crossed his mind. But now he's safe, alone, and just the right amount of tipsy. So when the impulse strikes to try the stupid things the Charlatan suggested, he gets up and grabs the bag of drugs.

What had she said? Burn it with hazel and sage? Something that belongs to the person? Chant an incantation?

They have hazelnuts and sage. Dick still has the handkerchief Aiden gave him along with the watch. He cuts a small square from the fabric because he can't bear to burn it all, even if it lost the scent of Aiden decades ago.

He rummages around in cupboards and cabinets until he finds a copper plate that looks "mysterious" enough to be used in some ridiculous spell casting.

He takes everything upstairs to the big, mostly empty great room he uses for dancing, then fetches a small, dusty marble table that he's seen in one of the storage rooms. It's not a big table―originally designed to be a living room side-table―but he still works up a sweat toting the solid stone top. He places the table in the middle of the room, wipes it down with a dishrag, then fetches a ladder to climb up and deactivate the smoke detector. By the time he’s done setting the stage, he thinks he may have burned all the alcohol out of his system, but there’s still a buzz beneath his skin that he’ll blame on the champagne and not his nervous excitement.

He places the copper plate in the middle of the table. On it he puts the piece of fabric, some sage and a couple of hazelnuts, then pours about one-third of the contents of the drug satchel on top. The Charlatan had said to use the whole bag, but there's no way he'll do that with a drug he's never tried. He doesn't remember if there is anything else he's supposed to add to the fire. He doesn't think it will matter. It's all bogus anyway, isn't it?

He gets matches and lights the contents of the plate. Then he closes his eyes and holds out his arms to his sides, palm up, and breathes deeply...in through the nose and out through the mouth. It's clear why the Charlatan had insisted "special breathing" is important. It's nothing to do with reaching a "special state of mind", and everything to do with inhaling the knock weed. It smells good, even when burning. Dick only coughs a few times. He _thinks_ he's only getting a small dose of the drug, but he isn't sure.

He continues the breathing exercise for a few more minutes. He can feel that the drug has some kind of effect on him, but can't really put his finger on what that is. All he knows is that he feels… different. He moves his hands to press his palms together and pull them towards his body, angling them up into a pleading gesture. He tries to remember what he's supposed to chant, but can’t. He figures it doesn't matter. If he says something, _anything_ , in Latin, it will sound mysterious. " _Non memini cantus et carmina quae latine sonat. Ita placet, a subsisto in conversationem, Aiden carus,_ " he repeats over and over in his very questionable Latin.

As expected, nothing happens. He falls quiet and opens his eyes, then remains standing, watching the fading embers until they've died. 

He's not sure what's so special about this that some people risk losing everything by smoking knock weed in public.

He hears voices, like the indiscernible murmur of people in a large waiting hall, and sees movement out of the corner of his eye. But, when he turns his head, there's nothing there. He reminds himself that knock weed is a hallucinogen, and that he's probably going to see, hear, and perhaps even smell things that aren't really there for as long as the drug remains in his system. 

Come to think of it, he doesn't know how long that will be.

“Oh dear. I’m a foolish kitty, wouldn’t you say, Aide?” he says, using the nickname they were never familiar enough for him to use in life.

Behind him, there’s a deep, warm chuckle he hasn't heard for years, but it still makes his heart skip a beat. It sounds _so real_.

“I’d be more ashamed of you witnessing this, if I didn’t know that you and your brother have done more drugs than the rest of the pack combined,” Dick adds dryly. He’s tempted to turn around to see if Aiden really is there. 

He doesn’t. “Dear me. I should go to sleep and try to limit the time I’m under this spell.” He starts walking towards his bedroom. The deep-purring that follows him gives him goosebumps…

* * *

Dean yanks the car door open and slides in. “Yoo! Sash! Change of plans. We’re going on a road trip. Dick wanted the apartment to himself for the whole weekend.” Seeing Sasha’s blank face, he hesitates. “Shit, are you busy?” he asks, not really waiting for an answer before he’s getting out of the car he just got into. “We can take a rain check on poker night and I’ll go get my own car inst―” Sasha grabs him by the arm and jerks him back inside so he lands on his back with his head in Sasha's lap and his legs still sticking out of the door. 

Sasha steps on the gas, effectively preventing Dean from getting out again. "This weekend, is my time, no? We play poker or we go road trip. Both is good. Going off on your self is no good," he says with a scowl.

Dean laughs. "Awesome. But could you stop the car so I can close the door and buckle up?"

Smirking, Sasha does as he's told. "So where are we going?" he asks while Dean sits up properly, closes the car door and buckles his seatbelt.

"Visit the grandparents."

"Your grandparents are dead," Sasha deadpans.

Dean gives him a shiteating grin. "What? You mean we can't go back in time?"

Sasha pulls the corners of his lips down in a facial shrug. "Vermont, it is," he says.

Dean cackles. Sasha _gets him_.

* * *


	3. Meeting Grandma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are a lot different than Dean expected. Dick's perception of the past is about to change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for the sudden lack of updates. A week before Xmas my stepdad got diagnosed with an aggressive form of colon cancer. He had surgery at New Years. Sadly, it's spread to the lymph nodes so he's going to have 1 more surgery then undergo chemotherapy. Mom's chronic pain has gone from bad to worse so she can barely move between rooms. For those of you who don't know it, I live with my mom and stepdad since after a separation 6 years ago. It was meant to be a temporary thing of a couple of months but I got a job and here I am still. I've been self-conscious about it. You're not "supposed" to move back in with your parents after 30. But now I'm so grateful for it since I get to spend time with them, and help them out when both of them are down for the count. Having to face a cancer diagnosis has taken its toll on my mood and I've been vent writing. 
> 
> This story is the only one with dark enough undertones to satisfy my need for venting as my other WIPs are too fluffy or happy. But (This makes it sound like this one's super dark, which it isn't by a longshot.) I've only been writing the Dick part of this story, which means I can't really publish chapters as they're meant to contain both Dick and Dean weaved together. The alternative would be publishing only the Dick parts and then rearrange chapters afterwards once I've written the Dean parts. I'll let you give your opinion about that. However, the scenes I've written this far might be cut or whittled down if I publish as I planned from the beginning. The mood I'm in makes me expand on scenes I meant to be shorter. Like, I didn't at all plan to give Knuckles Bolton as big of a spotlight as he's getting. So give me a second opinion on what to do. Should I publish as a neat, well balanced story parallelling Dean and Dick? Or do you want my vent writing as well, if it means getting frequent updates again?
> 
> And, as always, a huge thank you to my wonderful betas Lisa nad Melina. <3 You make a great difference both for the writing quality and my inspiration.

* * *

Dean smiles and waves at the gun tower, pretending he isn’t unnerved by the big-ass machine gun barrel tracking them on the road. “The car is armoured, right?”

“Rockets? Nnnn...” Sasha lets go of the steering wheel with one hand and makes a so-and-so gesture. “Bullets, yes. Big bullets, also yes.”

“Awesome,” Dean mutters and twists to look at the road ahead instead of at the gun tower they just passed. “Man, I was planning a journey back in time, but I hadn’t expected this. Are we at war? Is there some war I’m not aware of?”

Sasha chuckles. “America always at war. But, currently not at home front.” He throws Dean a fond but amused look. “I know you think, ‘Is like going through active war zone’, but it isn’t. Is just soldiers being post-war paranoid.”

“Whatever, man. All I know is that I’d feel helluva lot safer if I wasn’t unarmed. Sorry. I know you like me all chill and brave, but I ain’t gonna lie, I’m fucking unnerved.”

Sasha barks a short laugh. “Is because you’re not a dumb cub, yeah? Brave is not unafraid. I afraid too, big guns pointing at me. But...” He reaches out and opens the glove compartment. “I buy you gift, months ago. No good time to give it. Now, good time.” He takes out a gun and hands it to Dean. "Is yours. I have holster in the trunk."

Dean looks down at the gun, his eyes and hands both running over it appraisingly, and he sucks in an admiring breath. It's beautiful, a .45 caliber Colt M1911A1 with an engraved slide and ivory grips. "Wow. It's awesome. Thanks, man. I appreciate it." 

Sasha rumbles a pleased purr and smells content. "You can have holster too. We stop soon and get it from trunk, yeah? Then you put it on."

"Sounds like a plan."

Sasha stops the car when they are on a stretch of the road where it isn't obvious that someone can see what they're doing as Dean puts on the shoulder holster, then checks the magazine before holstering his gun and putting on his jacket over it. He would have preferred to shoot a few rounds to get accustomed to his new weapon, but, considering where they are, it would be unwise and might be mistaken for hostility.

They're closing in on their destination. The area has suddenly turned heavily guarded. Gun towers, roadblocks with soldiers checking identifications, suspiciously observant people working in the gas station and convenience store they'd stopped at. Passing through the last town, every person they'd seen had stopped what they were doing to look at their car. 

"I gotta admit, I hadn't expected this. I knew they were military folks, but…" Dean says when they're back in the car, on their way again.

Sasha smirks. "You expect gimps in rocking chairs?"

"No. Of course not.” Dean pauses for a beat. “... yeah. Kinda," he admits with a sheepish shrug.

Sasha sniggers. "Your dad, a gimp in rocking chair? Your Patriarch, a gimp in rocking chair? I'm a gimp in―?"

"I get it," Dean interrupts and holds up his hands in surrender. "I get what you're sayin’. I guess I just took the word 'retired' too literally instead of thinking ‘veteran soldiers’."

"You want we turn around?"

"Dude, no! I'm fucking excited about doin' this, okay? I just worry I’ll be barred from doing what I came to do. I figured, he could refuse phone calls, but he wouldn't refuse me if I came in person. But now? I might not even get close enough to get them to deliver a message. The security is insane, man. If I don’t get close enough for a scent introduction, I might get gunned down. I just…”

“Relax. He’ll let you call on him. They both will. Their pack won’t stop you. Trust me.”

“If you say so...” Dean says, not as certain as his Alpha companion. He falls silent and looks out the window. They come to a large strip of land cleared of any trees and brushes. They can see a tall chain mesh fence topped by barbed wire with guard towers at regular intervals. Beyond the fence, there’s another stretch of bare land, and beyond it, a high stone wall with gun and guard towers, stretching as far as Dean can see. “Fuck, man. It looks like a giant prison.”

Sasha only chuckles in response.

The road goes parallel to the fence for a long way before they come upon a gate. Sasha turns towards it, stops the car and cuts the engine as a guard comes out of the guard booth. Dean steps out of the car to walk around to greet him. “Hi. I’m Dean Winchester, Main to the Long Island Williams core. I’m here to see the grandparents,” he says and holds out his and Sasha’s IDs to the guard.

The guard sniffs the IDs before looking at them. “Permission to scent you, Sir?”

“Knock yourself out.”

The guard scents him and takes a step back. “One moment, Sir.” He goes back to the guard booth and hands the IDs to someone inside, waits for a moment, then gets the IDs back and goes to return them to Dean. “Looks alright, Sir. You can go ahead.”

Dean gets into the car after wishing the guard a nice day. “Wow. That was easy.”

“No. Real control is up ahead. Now we have gun towers from both back and front,” Sasha says with an amused smirk.

“Awesome,” Dean says sarcastically.

The control by the stone wall is much more rigorous, albeit polite and non-threatening. To Dean’s surprise, the guards don’t insist on them forfeiting their weapons - only give them instructions on the rules they need to adhere to while armed with firearms in the area. Then they’re sent through with directions on how to get to “The Farm”...

* * *

“Are you just going to stand there and deep-purr me all night, love? When my bed can easily hold a large Alpha like yourself,” Dick says without opening his eyes. Sleeping seemed like a good idea in theory, but he can smell Aiden and he’s much too excited to fall asleep. 

“I’m not presumptuous, pet. And you invited me for a conversation, not physical intimacy,” Aiden says, voice warm with amusement. 

Dick feels the bed dipping as Aiden gets on it and slots into place behind him. A warm arm wraps around his chest and Dick automatically spreads his fingers to lace them with Aiden’s when he feels Aiden’s hand cup his. Aiden’s scent is slightly different than he remembers it―more scent bonds mixed in―but as perfect as always. He feels Aiden’s warm breath tickle his neck. “It’s my fault, I suppose,” Dick muses. “I don’t know how to say ‘Please, come fuck me into the mattress until I’m a keening mess, sobbing for more’, in Latin.”

Aiden laughs. "We'll see what we can do about it, Sheba."

Dick opens his eyes. His heart stutters when he _sees_ the hand he's holding. One would expect an apparition to be see-through, not solid. But the hand he’s holding is as real as his own. There's even a hint of sweat on Aiden's palm. "Are there no rules against the living sleeping with the dead?"

Aiden laughs again, hugging Dick closer to his chest. "Are we talking about necrophilia? Then yes. Otherwise, no. Who'd enforce the rules?"

Dick twists around to face the man he's been in love with for so long. Only, it's not Aiden as he knew him. It's a much younger man, in his mid-twenties perhaps. The only wrinkle on his face is a perpetually etched worry-line between his brows. Not a hint of grey in his blond, short hair, and his body is nothing but muscles. It's the young man from Marlon's story, complete with short hair combed into the side-part popular at that time. Even the cut of his suit is old.

"You look different, dear," Dick says with a small smile.

Aiden laughs. His face shifts before Dick's eyes. His hair gets a bit longer, gets more volume, the part shifting more to the middle. Crowsfeet appears by his eyes, worry wrinkles on his forehead and laugh lines around his mouth. His body becomes more compact and fills out with comfort weight. "No, I don't, pet. I look like I've always done," he says with a warm smile.

Dick reflects that he certainly must be very high not to be unnerved by any of this. "Would you kiss me?"

"I never thought you’d ask…" Aiden leans in. Dick meets him halfway. Aiden cups his cheek and slots their lips together. It feels so real. There's nothing to give away that this is a hallucination. It's so real Dick doesn't even feel bittersweet about it, only jubilant. Aiden deepens the kiss, stopping time, sending Dick floating on pink clouds. 

They break after an eternity. "Knot me," Dick begs.

Aiden smiles, then sits up to shrug out of his suit jacket…

* * *

Inside the stone wall, the area is filled with the beautiful forest Vermont is famed for. They ride on a dirt road and cross two covered bridges until they reach another fence and the landscape opens up. A white wooden fence rings pastures and buildings. Horses graze in one pasture, but there are no other farm animals to be seen. Eventually, they reach a gate with a dirt parking lot outside. An old man sits perched on a fence post, waiting for them. He smiles and waves and jumps off the fence while Sasha parks the car. As soon as Dean steps out of the car, the man calls out to him. "Dean and Alexander, is it? Here to visit your grandparents?"

"That's us. But my grandparents are long gone. I'm here to see the grandparents of my mate."

"And who might that be?"

"Marlon Williams, grandson to General Hartley and Jedikiah Williams."

The man's eyebrows raise in surprise. "Mar agreed to that? _Dang_. I was thinking Mar and Jed were two badgers hissing at each other from their burrows, both refusing to come out,” he says with humour crinkling the corners of his eyes.

“They’re hissing? I thought they weren’t speaking at all?” Dean counters with a lopsided smirk.

The old man laughs. “Indeed, they aren’t. Anytime Jed speaks of Mar it’s always like ‘that _boy_ ’. But it doesn’t stop him from reading every scrap of news he can find about his grandson,” he says good-naturedly. He comes to greet them half-way. When Dean stops to square himself up for a formal greeting, the old man―an Alpha with a very weak Alpha marker, telling Dean he’s passed his fertile age―waves a hand dismissively. “Tssk. Don’t waste any time posturing for me. Save it for the top dogs. I’m Farley. Welcome to the Farm. Jed's busy training the youngsters, but give me a moment and I’ll notify Karen she has a visitor,” he says and takes a cellphone out of his jacket. He taps at the screen expediently to send a text, then pockets the phone and offers his hand to shake while tilting his neck.

Dean takes his hand then leans in to scent. Farley is content and happy, but he’s nearing the end of his life. Dean can smell that his body isn’t working properly anymore. But to know exactly what’s wrong he’d have to siphon. Not that Farley seems to be bothered by it. Dean offers his own neck when he’s done. 

Farley gives him a rudimentary sniff. “That’s Williams, alright. But I’m getting five Williams bonds?”

“You can tell them apart? Awesome. My little brother has a freak nose like that too,” Dean grins. “And yeah. That’s Marlon and his four sons. There’s just something about those Williams boys, if you get what I’m sayin’?”

Farley chuckles. “A pretty O like you? Be careful about saying that around Jed or you’ll be subjected to the full brunt of his charm,” he warns jokingly before looking at Sasha. “Now you’re a strapping specimen. I recognise your scent, Alexander. You don’t happen to have an older relative who fought in the war, do you?”

Sasha’s lips twitch in a small smirk as he shakes his head. He remains two steps behind Dean, standing at ease.

“Dang. I could have sworn it. Oh well.”

“Speaking of the war,” Dean says. “You still holding grudges against those who fought for the other side?”

“Pfft. Not unless they’re still holding their own grudges. I ain’t goin’ to trust a Unionist to this day, but if they’ve moved on from old loyalties? Why waste time holding grudges? We’ve got nine pack members that used to fight for the Union before they defected or were left behind. Today they’re good friends and loyal as can be. During the war, a couple of ex-mercs did a great service for our side. It doesn’t matter. The important thing is the here and now. I'll have you know that war is a nasty business. And it's in every soldier's, hell, every person's interest, to leave past conflicts behind."

"Agreed," Dean says, relaxing a little. If that's the attitude, then he doesn't have to worry about Sasha's safety more than his own. "Where were you stationed?"

Farley chuckles. "Everywhere, lad. I was young and foolish, and thought being a soldier meant glory. So I enlisted. At first, it was the three-month war with Canada. Then the Union invaded so I went to Texas. We were driven out, and I remained on the front lines as they pushed us steadily upward. We dug in in Arkansas, then we fought in Kansas. Back to Canada where we fought alongside the packs we used to be at war with. Then, once the Union was driven out of Canada and the US, I fought under Jed down in Mexico to get those Union bastards away from us once and for all."

"Mexico?" Dean throws a look at Sasha who nods a confirmation. "Huh."

"That's right, lad. We stopped at the Guatemalan border. By then, I'd been away from my old pack for more than half a century, so I made my way here to see if I was welcome to join with my brothers and sisters in arms in perpetual vigilance. We're retired, but always ready to go back to the front if America is threatened again." Farley turns his head and peers down the road beyond the fence. "There she is. If you excuse me, lads, I have to go pretend to fix the fence so I can watch this meeting without appearing to be prying." He claps Dean on the shoulder then scuttles back to the fence he'd been sitting on.

Dean hears the galloping horse before he sees the rider fast approaching. The horse is a young grey dappled Arabian, tail held high and neck proudly curved. The rider is dressed in jeans, a simple shirt with a gun holster over it, and a cowboy hat. It doesn't take her long to reach the gate. "Farley, you're not fooling anyone, you old busybody. Make yourself useful and hold Misty for me, will you?" she says with a wry smile.

Farley chuckles and abandons the pretence of fixing the fence to go take the reins.

A quick glance at Sasha reveals that he's put on his sunglasses.

Dean straightens his back and holds his chin high and proud. Internally, he's having trouble upholding the confidence that’s usually an integral part of who he is. He can't figure out what has him faltering right now.

Marlon's grandma opens the gate and comes to meet them. She notes their position and takes aim at Dean, stopping at a respectable distance.

"General Hartley? I'm Dean Winchester, Main to the Long Island Williams pack, the dominant pack of the east coast territories. I've come to take back what was stolen, mend what was broken, and to thank you personally, for saving my birth pack."

"I'm Karen Hartley, former general in the United States Army, Main to the Hartley-Williams pack, cell to the Long Island Williamses."

Dean's shaken. Marlon explicitly said they didn't have any cells. In his story, he'd said the Williamses split up to form a cell under General Hartley. But when Dean and he had argued about Sasha, that same day Marlon told his story, Marlon had said they didn't have cells. He manages to hide his surprise, but he'll mention it later, when the greetings are done and over. It's time to step up close and flare, to show off backbone and pride. Yet his feet are rooted to the ground. He's looking at Marlon's grandma, the boys' great-grandma - _family_.

Marlon might be picky about lineage, but Dean's like the average Packrunner. Pack is family. Any primary caregiver can earn the title mom or dad. They called Uncle Bobby uncle because dad did. If you changed pack, you adopted a new family. Dean's overcome with feelings he can't define. His throat starts constricting and his eyes sting. Behind him, Sasha makes a worried ' _Mrrt?_ ' then starts purring soothingly. Grandma Hartley's forehead wrinkles with a troubled frown. "Are you alright?"

Stupid tears dim Dean's sight. "What the hell?" he complains and averts his face to press fingers to his eyes, trying to get herself under control. " _Fuck._ " By the gate, Farley adds a father's soothing purr to Sasha's. (Sasha purrs like a mate, something Dean would have called him out on under other circumstances.) Dean chuckles ruefully and looks back at General Hartley. "Sorry. Fuck, this is embarrassing. I came here, wanting you to be impressed. I wanted you to think 'What a kickass young man our grandson managed to bag himself'. That you'd think I'm worthy of my title. But suddenly, all I can think of is that this is the closest I've ever been to a living grandma of my own. And I―" Dean's voice breaks and he has to blink more tears out of his eyes. " _Fuck sake!_ "

General Hartley pushes her hat off her head to hang on her back by the string, then takes two long strides to Dean to wrap him in a warm hug. "Dear kit. Sweet little kit. It's alright. It's alright," she coos and rocks him gently. Dean hugs back, squeezing his eyes shut and pressing his nose against her shoulder. She has a pleasant scent that's made familiar by the distinct Williams mating bond. Aside from her personal scent and other scent bonds, she smells of horses and leather, gunmetal and sweet potato fries.

Dean takes a few steadying breaths. "I'm sorry. You probably don't want some stranger dropping in out of nowhere, calling you grandma, but―"

"Sweetie, of course, I do. You smell like family, which means you _are_ family. I've lost most of my kits and grandkits so when someone adopts me for that role I'll happily take it."

"See, Karen? You always ask why I insist on watching the first meetings with visitors," Farley hollers. "This is why! I'm an old sap and reunions are my drug!"

Dean huffs a breath of a laugh and lets go of Karen. Karen ignores Farley and cups Dean's cheeks with a warm smile. "Don't worry about impressing me, sweetie. If you've got your heart in the right place, that's good enough for me," she says and rubs the tears off his cheeks with her thumbs before letting go.

"Ma'am, I'm kickass _and_ have my heart in the right place," Dean says, regaining the charade of composure with a cocky smirk, feeling light on the inside. Behind him, Sasha chuckles. Dean turns his head to look at him. "Hey! Where's the lie?"

"No lie," Sasha answers with a headshake.

Dean looks back at Karen. "Grandma?” he tests the title, it feels good and makes Karen’s eyes smile. “May I introduce my Siderunner and head of security at HQ, Commander Aleksandr Chaadayev," he says and steps aside with a sweeping gesture.

Sasha flares under his sunglasses, bows his head respectfully and licks his lips in deference. "General Hartley, I'm honoured to meet you," he says, talking slowly which Dean's learned means he's thinking very hard about grammar. Sasha tilts his neck to invite a scenting. 

"Commander Chaadayev…" Karen says thoughtfully before giving Dean's arm a squeeze and moving to scent Sasha. "Your scent is familiar but I can't place it. Have we met before, young man?"

Dean has to bite his tongue not to laugh when she calls Sasha 'young man'. But Sasha keeps a straight face when he says "Not in person, General."

“Please, call me Karen.”

“Karen,” Sasha says with a respectful headbow.

Karen smiles at him, then turns so she’s facing the both of them. “You’ve had a long journey. Are you hungry?”

"Ma'am, if you got more of those sweet potato fries, I ain't gonna say no," Dean says earnestly.

“I’m sure we can conjure something up. Follow me,” Karen says and motions for them to join her. Farley opens the gate for them and, once they’ve passed, he follows a few steps behind, leading the horse. Sasha walks a step behind Dean and Karen. 

"Hey, grandma? This is kinda embarrassing, but I asked Marlon straight up if we had any cells and he said no. Then you say you're our cell…?" Dean asks while they're walking.

"Told ya, lad, two badgers hissing!" Farley hollers behind them.

Karen smiles tiredly. "Long ago we split from the core and conditions were made. They never changed. And…" she takes a deep breath and sighs. "Should you tell my mate, Marlon's grandpa, that he's no longer a Williams, he'd march straight back to challenge Mar for rank. Mar is still the Patriarch, isn't he?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Thought so. My Jed, he'll accept being part of a cell, but he’d rather die than not be a Williams. So, we've remained what we once were, the strictly military branch of the Williams pack." Karen chuckles. "Well. Not strictly. Jed has a head for business so we dabble in finance to pay for the upkeep of everything. It's not cheap to provide for just short of 5000 semi-retired soldiers. That includes everything from weapons and gear, to daily necessities. We make good money by buying American weapons and selling them in other countries."

Sasha purrs approvingly. Dean's reeling. "Five _thousand_?"

Karen grins. "Constantly growing. Many are away fighting for years. Bonds fade, and they come home to realise that they no longer fit where they once belonged. Their packs have merged or split, their mates have new mates, their PTSD makes it hard for them to readjust, or their injuries prevent them from getting back on their feet. They miss their siblings in arms, so they come here, to the people that have become family. Back when we retired, we didn’t all retire at the same time, so some served with the next generation of soldiers. There’s a constant overlap since not a single soldier that comes to join us has served less than ten years. We don’t let just anyone join, ex-soldier or not. They need to have someone on the inside who can vouch for them. We screen their records from the military, check their civilian background, and then they get to stay and work here during a trial period before we decide if they’re allowed to join. Naturally, we might adapt conditions for those who are injured. But missing an arm or a leg, or being partially paralyzed doesn’t mean you’re down for the count.”

“Damn straight, it doesn’t. My Uncle Bobby might be a few legs short, but he’s still the best damn mechanic I’ve ever met.”

“So you’re a mechanic?” Karen probes curiously.

“Not currently. But I used to be. I worked in the family garage part-time. I like to fix things.”

“You got any experience with guns? I know you’re wearing one.”

Dean smirks. “Ma’am, my dad started training us in gun safety before we could properly handle spoons. We might have had the garage as a source of income, but we were hunters, first and foremost. And, when I was born, my pack consisted of the last survivor from each of three packs. All had been at war. So, yeah. I know how to handle guns and rifles. I also have training in hand-to-hand combat, tracking and stealth. I ain’t saying I can measure up to soldiers with years and years of actual battle experience, but I keep practising every week and I was bloodied at 13, soon after I presented.”

Karen looks surprised. “You presented at 13? Then you’re a lot older than you look.”

“I get that a lot,” Dean says with a cheeky wink. 

“Can you ride horses?” Karen asks, expression open and curious. Her hair is grey and her face wrinkled, but she looks strong and smells in good health. She’s shorter than he’d imagined. It makes Dean feel stupid. As if he’d thought there was a height requirement to become a general.

Dean makes a face. “Depends on where you set the bar. Our horse was a draft horse. She was calm as could be and even more trusting. So, yeah. I can ride. But it would be hubris to think I’d be able to handle a spirited soul like Misty back there,” he gestures with a thumb behind himself where Farley’s leading the young mare that over and over throws her head and tries to dance forward at a faster pace. “Not without lessons. I ain’t trained to be cavalry, if you get what I’m sayin’.”

“Would you be willing to stay a few days and do a few tests? Find out your skill level? We Williamses pride ourselves on our training. I know it’s not my place to require you to master the same disciplines, but I can’t help but wonder how your training compares with what we teach our young."

The idea excites Dean. "I've got the weekend. As long as I'm back at work by Monday morning."

Karen gives him a warm smile. "Delightful. Then we’ll have a chance to get to know each other."

"Yeah. Fuck, I can't believe you have a private army here."

"It's not _quite_ a private army. Long ago, during the war, we were faced with a choice. We were fighting the Union in the Midwest when we were called home. Our pack, the core, was safe from military threats at the time, and we were where the fighting was the worst. I couldn't abandon all the people in my care. Soldiers, civilians, kits and adults alike fighting for survival. So we split. Some stayed with me, others went home. Today, my pack is retired. But we'll be there in a heartbeat if the country is attacked again. America as a whole is our top priority. With one exception. That's if we, or the core, are targeted. In that case, we'll be there in your defence even if America gets attacked on another front. It's also a reason we can't accept just anyone in, ex-soldiers or not. It's important that they know what our priorities are and agree to stand behind them. But I wouldn't call it a private army as such. Neither we, nor you, can use our power for personal gain. Everything we do is for a safe and unified America for all designations. Only under the direst circumstances would I command my pack to harm fellow Americans."

"I can respect that, ma'am. I ain’t gonna try to bully anyone into submission with a fucking army." Or, if he needed to, he’d use Sasha’s company.

"Good. We do occasionally help law enforcement with things they're not equipped to deal with. Terrorists, bombs, things like that. We keep our activities only within the greater Williams territory. We've got contacts within the US military, the FBI and CIA. They're the ones to contact us if they want our help. We don't go looking for trouble and we only deploy the smallest amount of people needed to finish a mission safely. We don’t want to spook the general population into thinking we’re a threat to them.”

Dean nods. “So where do y’all live? Underground bunkers or something? I see people moving about and the buildings around here could probably hold a hundred people, maybe double if they ain’t needing space like Marlon. But…” Dean looks around. He sees a large stable, a barn, a huge barnhouse and a few other buildings. But now way in hell could they house 5000 people.

Karen chuckles. “This right here is called The Barn, and this is where Jed and I live along with a few other high ranking members, some of the kits, Juvies and domestics. The rest are spread out. We have several locations in the area, modelled after military bases, where the pack lives. The highest-ranking members in each base come to live at The Farm a few weeks every year to make sure pack bonds stay strong. And yes. We do have bunkers and bomb shelters, even if we don’t live in them.” She points in several directions and goes on, “The towns surrounding us mostly house people who didn’t make the cut to become pack or who won’t convert but still feel like they belong with us, also former members of our pack who suddenly found loved ones they had presumed dead and want to rejoin their old pack. We help them do that. They live nearby, and we help them find housing while we facilitate a soft-fade of our pack bond so they can eventually return home. All nearby towns have adapted to handle a large veteran population. Small towns as they may be, they still have top of the line medical, rehabilitation, and therapy services. The farms around here provide for us. Townspeople look out for us. It might be an exaggeration to say the whole town is siderunning, but in actuality, that’s what the towns are doing. We have a symbiotic relationship with them. Any unknown vehicles or travellers are promptly reported long before they reach our territory.”

“Huh. Yeah, that makes sense.”

“We’re not the only military pack, but we’re by far the largest. We’ve got great friendships going with all the others, though. Most of us here are ex-army forces. A few come from the navy and air force, but, as a rule of thumb, each branch of the military tends to stick together and military packs draw in new members of their own kind. The closest navy pack can be found in Maine. They’re organized much the same as us, but smaller. They don’t have our business savvy so they can’t support as large a number. They also seem to encounter more political roadblocks than we do.”

“You mean, my mate sees their power growing and goes ‘Cute, but no’,” Dean suggests.

Karen laughs. “That’s precisely it. Marlon likes to pretend he’s a local politician, but he’s not. It makes him appear as less of a threat, so we don’t call him out on it. Why should we, when we benefit from it? And Jed wants to avoid conflict with Mar at all costs.” She pauses, and the curiosity in her expression turns troubled. “How is he? And how are his sons doing?”

“He doesn’t update you? I thought you still spoke on the phone now and then.”

Karen smells sad when she smiles. “We do. Five minutes, give or take. Two or three years pass between those phone calls and he always asks the same questions. How’s my health? Are we happy? How’s Jed doing? When I counter with similar questions he always answers that everything’s fine. He said he was fine after Chuck died, and then again after Aiden died, so I know he’s lying.”

“Well, he isn’t _fine_. I kinda broke him? Apparently, being mated to me cracked some wall of denial he’d built up, and he finally realized how manipulative and emotionally abusive Chuck had been. So now he’s dealing with a bad case of delayed wanderlust, if you can call it that. Like, he’s angry enough that he finally wants to leave Chuck and chase him out of the pack, but he’s frustrated cuz the guy’s been dead for decades. Top that off with guilt because the boys came home when he was still a mess. They consoled him and helped him clean up the bedroom, including all the pics of Chuck he’d destroyed. The boys are healthy adults, they can handle the truth, but Marlon’s beating himself up over it since he thinks kits shouldn’t be the ones caring for their parents.” Dean shrugs with a small smile. “It’s making him moody as fuck. One minute he’s angry or sad for no outward reason, the next he’s following me around with a dopey, lovestruck smile, handsy and horny like you wouldn’t believe. He seems to have a hard time wrapping his head around the fact that I want him near even when I’m pissed off at him, since Chuck used to withhold closeness as a form of punishment. I can’t actually _do_ much to help him, except be myself, which is a bit frustrating. But my Second is doing a good job of playing therapist so…” Dean shrugs again. Karen listens with open interest, sensing he isn’t done talking.

Dick’s the one who has handled the lion’s share of the fallout from Marlon’s realisation, talking for hours on end with the Patriarch. Dean thinks it’s a good thing, since the two of them are getting closer, developing trust and intimacy. For Dean, he’s only had to endure Marlon’s sudden bouts of neediness and clinginess. “But overall, he’s happy and unsure of how to handle that,” Dean goes on. “The boys are doing great. We’re three Os, and all of the boys are mated to me and at least one of the others. Marlon and my Second, Dick, are dancing around each other as well. It’s taking its damned time, but I think they need it that way. Still, I bet that they’ll be mated too within a few years, maybe sooner. Sam, my little brother, is the third O in the pack. He’s currently studying at college.”

“What’s he studying?”

Dean shrugs. “Man, I don’t know. Everything? It’s his first year. He’s cramming in all these extra evening courses, and he seems to change his mind about what he wants to do every week. One moment he wants to be a cop, the next he wants to be a doctor, or a scientist or… yeah. He has no idea, so I don’t know what he’ll choose when he has to pick a direction. As far as I’m concerned, whatever makes his nerdy heart happy, he can do. But I’d prefer it if he doesn’t become a cop. He’s… I dunno. Noble. I don’t want him to be put in a position where he has to choose between his pack and doing what he considers right. I also think it’ll break his heart to realise how insanely corrupt law enforcement can be.”

“So what would you do if he says that’s what he wants to be?”

“Sit him down and tell him all the ugly truths I know and he doesn’t. Then, if it’s still what he wants, I’d make sure nobody stopped him from getting into the Academy. I think I’d also try to persuade him to choose a branch where he’s higher from the ground. Intelligence service? FBI? CIA? Something like that."

"But you wouldn't stop him?" Karen asks. Dean snorts and gives Karen an insulted look. She chuckles. "Just trying to find out what kind of leader you are."

"One that wants to see his pack happy, but ain't thinking I know best when it comes to knowing what my pack members feel and how they experience stuff. I try to use my own experiences as a guide. I ain’t liking it when someone tells me I can’t do something. Combine that with ‘it’s for your own good’, and you can guarantee I’ll be doing it.”

Karen gets a troubled wrinkle between her brows. Behind them, Sasha speaks up. “He mean, ‘don’t eat the habanero, you not like it.’ He listen to experience when important.”

“Oh, yeah,” Dean agrees, understanding how Karen might have misconstrued his intent. “I listen to advice, and I know better than to jump in blind where I don’t have any experience. Like, at HQ, I work in sales and acquisitions. Technically, as an owner, I outrank my boss, but I listen to him and trust him to know better than me, since he’s an experienced badass and I’m just a rookie. But it’s important to me that when someone tells me no, I get a detailed explanation of why. I give my pack the same courtesy. ‘Because I said so’ ain’t never cut it for me, and I don’t expect them to put up with it either. But, like, I ain’t dumb. When my old pack got attacked, it didn’t matter that I was the Main. I took orders from the experienced fighters in my pack without questioning them.”

“That’s a relief,” Karen says. She turns around. “Farley, take Misty to the stable,” she orders then smiles at Dean and Sasha. “We’re going into the main building. You’re welcome to roam free in all common areas, but you have to be invited to enter someone’s room. I’ll give you a guest room on our floor later. Or two, if you don’t want to share?”

“We share,” Sasha states decisively.

“What he said,” Dean confirms with a grin. 

“Well then. Before we enter, I just want to warn you, or prepare you, rather. My mate, he’ll doubtlessly flirt with you. He respects a stern rebuff. I just don’t want you to be surprised by it.”

“You want me to rebuff him?”

Karen chuckles. “Goodness, no. I don’t have a jealous bone in my body, sweetie. And I’m aging a lot faster than Jed. I’m past my fertile age. I haven’t had a Heat in years and my interest in sexual intimacy, even with him, is gone. I love him dearly in a way I’ve never loved anyone else in my life. But he’s got needs I’m no longer interested in fulfilling. Whether you turn him down or not is wholly up to you. But his tastes always aligned with Marlon’s, and I don’t see why a couple of decades would change that.”

“They do? Marlon never said anything about that.”

“How would he know? Jed never thinks with his dick, even when he tries to pretend he does,” Karen smiles warmly, wrinkles crinkling around her eyes. “Now, come on. I’m sure Jilly’s got more of those sweet potato fries in the kitchen. After that, I’ll give you a tour…”

* * *

Aiden’s purring, his knot firmly lodged inside Dick as they lie spooned, the sweat on their bodies slowly cooling. “So this is it, huh?” he says drowsily.

Dick turns his head so he can see Aiden’s softly smiling face, eyelids heavy with contentment over his red eyes, hair plastered to his forehead and curling around his ears. He’s back to being a young man. Maybe 30? 35 at most. Dick doesn’t mention it. “What is, dear?”

“This. That thing that drives people nuts. That makes them stupid and happy in their misery. I never got it. That thing that made Mar lose his mind at the first whiff of Chuck. That made him put up with the bad treatment he received, and be so blissfully happy with so little attention.” Aiden’s smile widens. “I get it now. I get what bound him and Arvid together, why grandad chose life when grandma called for him, even though they were no longer mated. ...Why you stuck around in HQ for my nephews. ...For me.” He reaches out and strokes some hair out of Dick’s face. “I knew you were special from our first meeting. But I didn’t fully get how special you are to me, until now. I’ve never made love like this before.”

“You lived your whole life without making love?”

Aiden chuckles and kisses him between the shoulder blades. “I didn’t say that. There are different kinds of love. I’ve never made love with someone I had a romantic interest in. I’ve made love with people I love as friends or family. But nobody with whom I could understand what makes a mate so special. Why one would want to get mated.”

“That’s tragic.”

“I don’t think so. I think it would have been more tragic if I had. Because it wouldn’t have changed my choices. My little brother was always my number one priority.” 

Dick considers it. He’s drowsy and content. It’s hard to believe the two of them weren’t destined to be when this feels so perfect. Maybe he died? Maybe he’s in heaven. “Marlon said you died from a broken heart…”

Aiden throws his head back laughing and hugs Dick closer. “He would say that, wouldn’t he? It wasn’t a lie, per se. But I’m not the man you and everybody else think I am.”

“How did you die?”

Aiden’s smirk is sly and cheeky. “You know already, pet. You walked in on Mar and me arguing about it, years before it happened. You’re a smart man. I’m sure you can put two and two together.”

“I walked in on you and your brother arguing several times. I can’t recall any of those times being about how you died,” Dick answers dryly.

Aiden smiles lazily at him. “I’ll show you.”

Suddenly Dick’s standing alone in a hallway in HQ. He’s on the top floor. The carpet under his shoes is caramel with a brown pattern. In a year it will be exchanged for a blue one. He’s not sure how he knows that, but he _knows_. It gives him the strangest feeling of deja vú. Crowley’s bond has faded again, bringing the gloom of being scentless. Dick’s a ghost moving silently, startling people when he turns a corner since they can’t smell him coming. A few weeks ago he celebrated the end of his internship. He’s now properly employed with a decent salary on entry-level. Miles and miles from where he once started. Officially, he’s employed at HR, but more often than not he’s assigned to serve Aiden Williams as his assistant. It’s hell and heaven baked into one. He’s in a hurry now, walking fast with the files Aiden requested pressed against his chest. It took hours to go through the archive to find them, so he’s stressed.

Aiden had said to walk straight in, but when he presses the door handle of the office down, he hears voices from inside. It’s Marlon and Aiden. He hesitates, listening through the crack in the door.

“ _... could OD! It’s madness! And then what am I going to tell the boys? The truth?!_ ” Marlon’s furious. Dick can smell his spiky anger soured by anxiety through the crack.

“I highly doubt that. But if it bothers you so much, get the coroner’s report doctored. It isn’t like it would be the first time you pulled strings to shape reality how you want it. And you can talk, but you’re ten times as bad as I am.” Aiden sounds annoyed, but his scent is calm.

“Maybe so, but I’m not the one with a close call already. You are. I―”

Dick knocks and steps inside, interrupting Marlon. “Excuse me, Sirs. I have the files you requested, Mr. Williams.”

Aiden smiles warmly. “Thank you, Richard. I’ve told you, call me Aiden when we’re alone.”

Dick looks up through his lashes, gaze pointedly going towards Marlon who just nearly managed to suppress an eye-roll at Aiden’s dismissal of his presence. “Sir,” Dick says demurely.

Marlon scowls at Aiden. “Just do something about it, Aid.”

Aiden throws an annoyed look at Marlon. “If I do, it might start a war.”

“A war we will win. It’s a small price to pay.”

“No.” Aiden’s tone is final. He holds out his hand and smiles at Dick again, eyes more green than hazel, beckoning for him to come forward with the files.

Marlon stands to Aiden’s right behind the desk, watching Dick with unreadable eyes the colour of winter. It always feels like Marlon knows more about Dick than he should. Like he’s a mind reader. Dick gets nervous and a bit frightened under Marlon’s scrutiny. It’s even more awkward these days. He has to wonder, does Marlon know that he’s had their kitling growing inside of him? Does he know about its death? Does he blame Dick, or is he relieved? It’s hard looking at Marlon Williams and not thinking about how it felt with his mouth attached to Dick’s glands, his fangs pressed against skin, his weight, his scars, his clever fingers and the jerk of his knot inside. He’d pressed his deep-purr straight against Dick’s flesh. Sometimes when Dick thinks about it, it still gives him goosebumps. And his scent… No one smells better than Aiden, but the whole family is a curse, keeping Dick entranced, in pain, pining.

Dick goes to give Aiden the files. Marlon’s gaze never leaves him. Dick can feel his anxiety skyrocket. He’s starting to sweat. It’s a blessing they can’t smell him.

He’s back in his room wrapped in Aiden’s arms, naked and happy. The transition is jarring. Half a life had passed in a single heartbeat. Standing in the office, he hadn’t remembered anything of the present, except that strange sense of Deja vú with the carpet. Aiden goes on talking as if Dick isn’t reeling from the shift in time. “Mar was always one to twist words. I died of a heart attack. That was true. I had a strong body and a strong heart. Can you figure out why I had a heart attack?”

“You overdosed on drugs?”

“That’s right, pet. Drugs I started using excessively to cover up my longing for something more with you. It wasn’t the first time I’d ODd either. I wasn’t addicted to drugs. But unlike Mar, who used them, I abused them. So when he said I died of a broken heart, it wasn’t a lie. But it wasn’t the truth either.”

Dick’s not sure how he feels about the revelation. Aiden licks over the gland at the knob of his spine, distracting him, making him keen and shudder, then rolls them over so Dick’s on his belly. Next, Aiden is moving inside of him, his knot pulling at Dick’s rim over and over until Aiden lets out a whine and comes again, jerking and shuddering then collapsing to gasp by Dick’s ear.

“Oh dear. I just remembered… we forgot to use a condom,” Dick muses in the afterglow. It doesn’t come naturally to him as it does for the rest of the pack. Back when he was scentless, he didn’t have to worry about getting pregnant since it never lasted. Having an Alpha go bare and come inside of him was just beneficial for his health.

Aiden lets out a surprised huff of amusement. “Love, I’ve been dead for a decade. If I somehow manage to knock you up, you better keep it.” Dick giggles. Aiden smiles and kisses his shoulder. “Don’t worry, it’s not going to happen,” he reassures. He’s purring, vibrations travelling through their naked skin, directly into Dick. It’s a mate’s purr. Dick thinks he should be aching for all the things that could have been. But he’s not. And he smells their bond. Their impossible mating bond. It wasn’t there a second ago but now it’s there, filling him with calm and joy. The weight of Aiden, warm, heavy, slick with sweat, it’s too real to ache.

“I wish we would have met under other circumstances. Then maybe we could have had this…” Dick muses.

Aiden slides partially off him, just enough so they can look at each other nearly nose to nose. “Kitty, we met under ideal circumstances. You might have thought of me as the reason your pack got murdered, but if I’d made a serious move, you wouldn’t have resisted.”

“You’re being presumptuous, dear,” Dick says with a coy smile.

“No. I can see it. On this side of the veil, time isn’t linear. Neither is any choice we make firmly cemented even after it’s done. Life as we know it, is dreaming. That allows us to see things that never were and never will be. We exist endlessly in every direction. And when we think of another option for a choice already made, a temporary world suddenly exists where we did things differently. Then it pops like a bubble leaving us the memory of it. So I see it. You’d never have made a move on me. You’re too fragile and too strong for that. You allow Alphas to court you, but you don’t chase them. The most you do is stick around to give them the opportunity. And I never go for it in any scenario I can think of. I couldn’t have resisted you either, if you’d been bold.”

“If I’d known…” Dick trails off. If he’d known, he’d still have found it humiliating. He’d always had his pride. He’s always believed he was something worth fighting for. All that time at college with Mike and Luci, he’d turned them down because they wouldn’t give him the respect and courtship he needed to keep his pride intact. He was fragile. Constantly keeping up appearances, needing people to see beyond his scentlessness before he would let them in. If he’s honest with himself, hasn’t he always known that Aiden wouldn’t have turned him down if he’d taken the lead?

Aiden’s looking at him as if he’s reading his mind, but he could just as easily have been reading the expression on Dick’s face. “See, pet? From my perspective, we met at the ideal time. I’d grown old and mature enough to admit to myself that I was in love with you. You knew my family and cared for them. I wasn’t raising small kits. My little brother was mentally stable at the time, and I no longer had to deal with Chuck and Amara. And, when we met, I didn’t yet know of your connection to Peter. If I’d been like Mar, we’d have been mated and you’d have been pack bonded within weeks, and we would have helped you deal with the guilt about your former pack together. But I did nothing. And then I found out about Peter and I had an excuse to do nothing.”

“It might have sparked a pack war…”

“It wouldn’t have. I knew it even then, and so did Laurent. Peter loved you more than you gave him credit for, and he wanted you to be happy even when it hurt him. No. The fault is all mine.”

“Maybe if I was born in another time… if I’d met you and we were about the same age. Maybe at the Sanctuary," Dick muses with a little smile. It's a pleasant little mind game.

Aiden's silent for a moment, stroking Dick's hair. His face and body is morphing again, going from very young - newly presented, all the way up to older than he ever got to be when he lived. He's as handsome as he always was, even with a face full of wrinkles and his hair all white. Then, in a heartbeat, he's young again, somewhere around 25. He suddenly chuckles. "I can tell you that I am always yours. In all the many lifetimes I’ve imagined, in every scenario where we meet, I fall in love with you. Sometimes it happens at once, sometimes it takes a few meetings. In some alternate timelines, it even happens that we end up mated, as long as Mar snags you first. But it's rare. Most of the time, I never give you a hint of what I’m feeling. And even when I do... If you'd have been there back then, things would not have played out like you think. And it’s because _you_ would not have found me as interesting."

"I find that hard to believe, dear."

"I told you, I'm not the man everyone thinks I am. Until you came along, not even my little brother seemed to realise it. Only Mal saw it clear as day. But if you want, I can show you."

Dick _means_ to lilt his tone upward to make it a question, but his pronunciation is lazy. "Show me."

His heart is racing. The wet has seeped through his shoes. His feet are cold, and every step on the uneven cobbles jars him as he sprints as fast as he can to get away from his pursuers. The soles of his worn shoes are too flat and slippery to jump up on a wall and push to the opposite wall to climb upward fast in the chilly rain. He jumps over a pile of horse manure. Stepping in it, he'd give them something they could smell to track. He needs to get out of sight so he can disappear, but anytime he's managed to put enough distance between them he's found himself in places with only one way to go.

The three Alphas chasing him are mean, strong and prosperous. They know he's carrying nothing of value. But he himself is the commodity they're after. He's too scared to wonder how much he's worth. He'd been captured once as a kit. Lured in by fake hospitality and sympathy. He'd managed to escape in a few days, saved by his ability to read, climb, and improvise. The lock mechanism that had kept him chained to the floor had its instructions on a nearby table. It was designed to prevent getting picked by the normal means that a smart street kit might be familiar with. But he could read. They hadn't known that.

One of his followers has an easy lope. He seems like he can run for days and enjoy it. A predator hunting for sport. He's constantly far ahead of the other two. Dick can't shake him. It's turned into a game of stamina Dick knows he can't win. Not this time of the year, when he's cold and on the brink of starvation. He needs to hide and have his scentlessness do the work for him. But he runs the risk of fleeing from one predator into the grasp of another.

Snatchers take kits mostly, but not solely. Adults and Juvies that nobody will miss fall prey to abduction too. They spend the rest of their lives as slaves. Dick can't imagine a worse fate. Death would be kinder.

He's on Hale territory now. Here, the rooftops aren't safe. Boltons scare him more. They'd pop up behind you from nowhere, and when you turned to run, another one would appear in front of you. It had taken him years to understand that they used the sewers. Packrunners are the bane of his existence. They'd also been instrumental to his survival this far. Years ago he'd had a nice room in the Perlino Arch. Safe, so close to the Boltons' home. He'd used bricks to wall off the door and had gone in and out through the window. Safe. Warm. Full of his belongings. Then one night he'd heard the pack alarm call and snuck close enough to overhear that the harbour was about to get bombed. He'd heard the discussion about the risk of fire and the plans for how to stop it. So he fled. Saved by his proximity to the dangerous pack.

He'd nearly died that night anyway. He'd hidden between the large stones under the pier, thinking they'd withstand bombs better than a house could. He hadn't counted on the tidal wave that happened after the shipyard had exploded. Suddenly water was everywhere and he was flung into the rocks, breaking ribs, cracking his head. He woke up hours later, still under the pier but far from the dry ground he’d hidden on. His shoulder was dislocated, hand caught in a tangled fishnet stuck high up on a wooden pole nearly at the end of the long pier. The waves tried to pull him out to sea but the net held his hand firmly, holding his body up just high enough to keep his mouth above the waterline. Everything was pain. His head felt like it would explode. He was bruised, scratched and bleeding everywhere. And so, so nauseous. He'd thrown up until his throat was raw and then some. He doesn't have a memory of how he got loose, but somehow he’d managed to get himself to where the rocks met the sandy bank below, water shallow enough to crawl. He’d lain there for an eternity. Weeks, maybe. One arm dangling in the water, living off whatever the current swept through the pillars and rocks, grabbing it before it got swept out to sea again. Bloated dead birds and rats, dead fish, several lettuces the tidal wave had stolen from the shore. He couldn’t move much, was burning up with a fever, headache pounding at his eyes, his brain feeling too small for his skull, making him dizzy and nauseous. 

Some of the things he ate had passed the due date for human consumption, but such was his hunger that he couldn’t be picky. He threw up most of his food anyway. The concussion alone should have been enough to kill him or leave him brain-damaged for life, but it didn’t. Dehydration would have done him in if the ocean hadn’t delivered into his grasp a full crate of coca-cola, as if it was trying to make amends for what it had done to him. His world smelled of the sweet seawater, fire, and rotting debris. He should have died. But he didn’t. Somehow, he’d survived. Slowly he healed, got well enough to emerge to a city landscape that had been forever changed. All the places he’d established as his home and work routes, all his safe spaces, burned to nothing. 

He’s thinking about it now as he’s running for his life, because he has the same sense of desperate hopelessness he had then. He keeps thinking, this is it, this is how he will die.

His lungs are burning. He needs a rest. A glance backwards reveals the lemon flare of his hunter far behind, but not as far as before. He’s losing speed. He dives into an alley and sees a large man arguing with two others by an open doorway. It looks like the large man with his back to him is guarding the door.

Dick slows down and holds his breath, sneaking as silently as he can along the wall. With his heart in his throat, he swiftly slinks into the doorway behind the giant of a man. Inside there’s only one way to go - down a narrow staircase. He goes halfway down it so he can’t be seen from above before sinking down to a ball, letting out his breath, listening intently. They hadn’t noticed him. From below he can hear music. Above him, he hears voices. The two people are leaving. There are running footsteps that slow down by the doorway.

“Where do you think you’re going?” a man says with a Texan accent.

“Hey calm down. I’m just going to get the boy that just went in here.”

“You’re not getting in. Keep walking.”

“Listen, I don’t want any trouble. But the boy stole from me. So I’ll just go in to get him and be on my way.” As if Dick would ever steal from a Snatcher. He sometimes picks pockets and steals, but it’s not his main way of providing for himself. 

“No. No boy has entered here―”

“Yes he did,” the Snatcher interrupts. “I saw him.”

The Texan is getting angry. “Buddy, even if your boy went in here, which he didn’t, you wouldn’t be allowed to take him with you. You’re on Hale territory and this place is called The Sanctuary for a reason. Anyone breaks the house rules, they’ll be swiftly punished. Whatever he stole from you, isn’t worth the price. Trust me.”

“Okay, okay. Is there any other way in or out? No? In that case, I’ll wait. He has to come out sooner or later.”

The Texan grunts. “As long as you don’t interfere with our business.”

Dick has a quiet moment of despair. He’s screwed. If he remains sitting here he will soon be discovered. Upstairs the lemon-eyed Snatcher will be waiting. Downstairs… it’s a club in a cellar. Cellars are usually interconnected and there must be another way out. It’s his only chance.

He takes a deep breath and gets up, then starts walking downward…

* * *


	4. Making Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick's escaped the Snatchers and makes his way down into a new world...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I've heaped loads of loads of written stuff on my betas now. I asked you if you wanted this portioned out neatly as it was planned or if you wanted my vent-writing too. Some of y'all said you wanted the vent-writing too, and since my inbox feels so achingly empty when I haven't published anything, you're getting it. Good news is, I'm working away on the other wips in the series too now, so hopefully, I can update those too within a reasonable timeframe.
> 
> Homelife is pretty tough at the moment. My step-dad had his second surgery not go great, giving us a scare by bleeding excessively. I did manage to bag myself another job that will give me more time with the family, and I'll get some time off between jobs when my current temp job ends and the next job starts, so that's good. Overall, I'm not keen on talking about it. Getting to immerse myself in my writing, then hearing your thoughts and reactions to the story is much more uplifting. 
> 
> No Dean in this chapter. ^^  
> You'll notice some things about Dick is different here than in "Packrunner canon". All those things are caused by the environment he grows up in, in the respective time period. Some things remain the same. Where his love for music and dancing comes from and how he learned to read, for instance. :) There's also something very important to the plot that Dick doesn't know, but I trust you to be verse-savvy enough to figure out. ;)
> 
> As always, I want to extend a huge thank you to my Betas Lisa and Melina, who take from their precious time to make sure my writing is readable and that I convey what I aim to convey. You're awesome! <3

* * *

The stairs are covered with shabby, red carpet in worse wear than the dim light from the wall scones make it seem. Loud live music can be heard from below. Dick can smell smoke, alcohol, sweat, secretion, arousal, drugs and various foods from beyond the heavy curtain covering the arched doorway below.

He’s been to clubs before, but not one like this. This is an underground establishment under pack rule. That means gambling and drugs, illegal in other places. Clubs are otherwise a good place to steal some food. Drunk people don’t tend to notice. Dick’s never been drunk. He could have stolen alcohol too. Drunk people don’t notice that either, but he’s too paranoid to indulge when staff can spot him. He doesn’t blend into this type of venue very well. The customers who go there have a little bit of money and they’re certainly not scentless. If the staff sees him he’s always promptly chased off unless he can make an order and pay for it upfront. 

Still, he finds himself drawn to clubs because of the music. He loves music, and he loves to dance. It’s an inheritance from a simpler time. Back when he still believed that all you needed was to exist, to earn love, care, food and affection. He’d been so very naive. But the memories from that time, fuzzy as they may be, are still good memories.

Dick was born a rainy night under an upturned cart by the docks soon after his parents and older brother arrived in America. They never really had a steady home, and lived in abandoned sheds, under overhangs, or in tiny one-room rentals that they had to vacate as soon as money ran too scarce. But through and through, they had music. Dick’s dad would play the fiddle or flute, or they’d sing. Both his parents could sing beautifully, and his mother could dance like it was nobody’s business. Even when she was sick she’d get up and dance sometimes. Dick would dance with his brother, competing to see who could best emulate their mother’s skill. Sometimes when Dick hears someone sing in an Irish accent, he longs for that time, a time when he was still naive and thought they loved him.

They had a hard time. Food was scarce. Mom was already unwell from weeks of seasickness aboard the boat, and her health kept deteriorating. She never really recovered after Dick’s little sister was born. All three siblings kept getting sick, the illnesses related to famine. His parents considered Dick to be worst off, since he’d been born without a scent and never acquired one. But in reality, his health wasn’t that bad in comparison to the rest of the family. He wasn’t sick as often as his siblings, but he was melancholy and clingy. Maybe it was because he was a lot dirtier than the rest of them, that they considered him to be the worst off? They might have been poor and sick, but they were clean. Every day they went down to wash in the sweet-smelling ocean. Dick loved that sweet smell but he hated to wash because when he did his bonds faded and made him melancholy. He made such a fuss about it that they stopped forcing him. Instead, his dad resorted to dipping a rag in their bucket of drinking water to wash Dick’s face and hands. 

Back then, the ocean still smelled pleasantly sweet. His parents had told him it smelled different than it had back in Ireland. Better. He couldn’t fathom how an ocean could smell any different until years later. After the bombing of the shipyard, the sea started smelling different too. The sweetness faded. By then his parents had been dead for years. But during his early kithood when everything was still alright, he was a menace that refused to bathe. It’s not like it mattered, even the dirt that got stuck on him soon lost its scent. 

Then came that day he’d overheard them talking. He was supposed to be out playing, but had felt sad for no reason like he often did, so he’d gone to the shed they called home at the time, and curled up inside a crate in the corner. That’s when his parents came home and he heard them talking about him. They were discussing abandoning him, to give his siblings a better chance of survival. That’s when he understood that merely living wasn’t reason enough to earn love and care. Either you needed to have a pretty scent, or you had to make yourself something of value instead of a burden. As soon as he could get out undetected, he ran and hid under the pier, crying until he was exhausted. He decided he’d show them he wasn’t a burden. He could take care of himself. He was six, after all. Nearly a grown man. He didn't need them.

So he did.

He didn’t own much, but his parents had shown him a paper that they said was proof he was an American citizen. They’d celebrated the day dad came home with those papers. None of them could read, but they’d still pointed at each paper to show where their names were written. ‘Richard Roman’. That paper became the key to his freedom. R and A were the first letters he learned. He ran around the city comparing his name to the signs over shops. CH had given him some trouble. Storeowners couldn’t necessarily read, but they generally knew what their signs said regardless. A cheese store cracked the CH for him and gave him E. Piece by piece he figured out the letters in his name, and when he could read them, he started deducting what the other letters meant and how to pronounce them. He stole a simple kitty book with one picture on each page and the word underneath. Ball. Duck. Zebra. Steadily, his understanding grew. By the time he was seven, he stole a newspaper every morning, read it, then ran around the slums as a tidings kit. It kept him fed, and any real money he earned he hid away in different locations for the day his parents finally abandoned him. 

But his parents never abandoned him. Not physically. But they stopped marking him with affectionate temple and neck rubs. Then the hugs got scarcer. Then he only got pats and the occasional cheek caresses. Finally, they stopped touching him altogether. He didn’t understand it back then, but they were giving him a soft fade, expecting him to die without any bonds. 

His little sister was the first to die. She’d been sick for a long time. Nobody knew what kind of sickness it was but it was something running rampant in the slums at that time. A disease that bit the prosperous Packrunners and the poorest Conservatives alike. His family was badly affected and it made any illness worse. Mom was very sick. Then Dick’s brother got pneumonia. His dad took his brother to a healer. Mom was lying on her pallet at home. She was dying and in pain. Dick could smell as much. She’d been dying for a long time. He sat with her. They owned a book. Dick had never dared touch it since they treated it like something sacred. It was a copy of the scripture. But that day, she’d been stroking it and told him how her grandpa used to read from it to her when she was little. Dick had gently taken the book from her, opened it randomly, and started to read. When he’d read for a while he put the scripture down to find his mom staring at him in awe. ‘You can read…’ she’d breathed.

‘I have to. That way I can take care of myself. I’m no longer a burden and you no longer have to pretend you love me,’ he answered. That moment is forever etched in his memory. For a beat, his mom had looked so heartbroken. She’d smelled of such acute sorrow it had turned into physical pain worse than what already was plaguing her, and then, nothing. Her scent faded right before his nose and she turned as scentless as him, eyes becoming unfocused and distant. She lived for two more days before drawing her last breath. Some days Dick still entertains the thought that guilt had killed her. He doesn’t actually believe it, though. Pneumonia took Dick’s brother, and a few months later his dad died. Sick and laden with grief, he’d been uncareful and got robbed, taking a knife between his ribs.

Dick was just about to turn ten. He was already accomplished at caring for himself. He spoke American English, not Irish English, because he knew refugees and immigrants were seen as less trustworthy. He cultivated a way of talking that was proper and polite. He was learning new languages as fast as he could. Not all refugees who stepped off the boat were poor, but all were lost. He got paid to act as an interpreter and guide. To this day, he still frequently made money or bartered for goods in exchange for helping new refugees fill out forms. 

He liked hanging out by the temporary refugee camps near the dock. Every night they would play music and dance. He exchanged his literary skills for those of foreigners, learning their languages in exchange for teaching them English. Using this method, he had learned to read four different alphabets and speak five different languages fluently enough to fool a native speaker, as long as the subject wasn’t too niched or specific. He also spoke countless different languages passably enough to make himself at least part-way understood. 

His gift for languages had kept him afloat, yet he’d been haunted by bad luck for a while now. He’s a slim guy without a scent. He looks like prey and smells like prey, which makes him prey. Repeatedly, his nests have been taken over or raided by bigger, badder people. He’s had his things stolen and been robbed more times than he can count. Believing he’s already dying because of his lack of scent, the predators have shown him no mercy. On top of it all, now something was happening with his body. A few months ago he’d begun feeling like something wasn’t like it was supposed to be. He won’t admit it terrifies him. He can’t put his finger on what’s wrong, something just feels _off_. Last month he’d gotten a fever out of nowhere for no reason. He’d peed himself in his sleep because his pants were soaked through when he woke up. The whole spell had lasted a few days. He’d never wished as hotly that he had a scent as he did then. It would have provided a hint of what was wrong with him. But nothing. Then, two weeks ago disaster struck again and he now, here he is, homeless, penniless and starving at the time of the year when it’s just starting to get cold and rainy.

He pulls aside the thick drapery and finds himself staring straight onto a dance floor. For a moment he’s taken aback by the dancing. He’s seen a few people dance swing before, but several of the dancers here are on a whole other level than anything Dick’s seen before. There’s a pair dancing with such skill and enthusiasm that he forgets his peril for a moment and slinks in just to stare at them while he tries to calm his breathing.

He recognises the girl. He doesn’t know her name, but she’s a Hale. He always found her beautiful, even as a kit. Her hair is shiny, jet-black and long. Her face has sharp features and hard angles, but it’s all softened by her brilliant smile and those chestnut-brown eyes. Her partner throws her up in the air and catches her expertly. Dick can’t hear it but he sees her laughing. She flares a gorgeous cornflower blue.

Dick’s never had an age or gender marker. He’s a black hole for scent. If he’s still long enough, or if he sweats profusely, even the scent of his clothes will fade. He knew he entered his Juvies only because he started needing to shave. He doubts he’ll have an Alpha marker when he presents. But if he had a scent, he’d want to attract an O like her. Quick on her feet, fierce, beautiful.

Dick shifts his attention to the young man she’s dancing with. His pristine white shirt is rolled up to his elbows, arms bedecked with multiple beaded bracelets of different quality - some sparkling with crystal and real gemstones, others dull like bakelite. He wears necklaces over his form-fitting waistcoat and combat boots of high quality on his feet. His eyes are heavily sooted with makup, and had he not had his fangs dropped Dick would have taken him for a Prog. He’s the kind of guy who can get a girl like the Hale. Tall, strong, prosperous. _Rich_. 

Not that Packrunners care about riches like other people, but the guy hits all the criteria for any designation. Dick’s envious.

He’s been staring at them too long while catching his breath. He’s forgotten he has to melt into the background. He nearly panics when he’s addressed by a waitress. “Excuse me, Sir? Can I take your order?” the woman asks. Her face is carefully neutral.

“Not yet, dear, I’m here to see a friend.”

Her scepticism breaks the surface for a fraction before she’s back to looking neutral. “I see. Welcome to The Sanctuary. We’re very protective of our patrons. I hope you’re not here to stir up trouble.”

“Not at all, dear. I’m hoping to avoid it.”

“Very well, sir.” She hesitates for a beat. Dick thinks he’s seen her before. He recognises her scent. If he’s right, she belongs to a small pack living not far from here. She isn’t a Hale but she has several Hale friendship bonds. “May I ask, are you a Packrunner?”

“The Red Romans,” Dick answers automatically. He’s learned that Packrunners are more friendly towards other Packrunners, so he lies. He can quote the scripture to Conservatives and refrain from teething with Progs, whatever he needs to do to get ahead. He came up with the Red Romans as a secret joke. He never flares unless he’s in a complete panic. His rare, red eyes make him stand apart and draw the wrong kind of attention. The only exception to the rule is if he’s alone, hidden away, and reading in the darkness.

“I’ve never heard of you,” the waitress says. Dick smiles sadly and averts his eyes towards the floor, heavily implying he’s scentless because his pack has died. The waitress’ demeanor softens. “I’m sorry for your loss. Wait here,” she says and takes off through the throng of people. Dick takes the opportunity to look around for the layout of the place. There’s the stage, where a woman is singing an upbeat song with depressing lyrics, and a bar at the opposite side of the room beside the stage. On this side of the stage there’s a door with a restroom sign on it. A big dance floor is in front of the stage, then tables where people drink and watch the performance and dancers, then, further back, tables with a lot of gambling going on, then couches and tables in the far back where people are talking and having sex. His eyes go back to the bar. There’s a door at the far side behind the bar, where servers go out and in, emerging with snacks and food. That means a kitchen. A kitchen that most likely doesn’t get its deliveries through the doorway Dick came from. That’s his escape.

Before he can go anywhere, the waitress is back. She’s carrying a drink on her tray and a sweater in her other hand. She holds up the sweater to him. “Here. I’ll trade it for the one you’re currently wearing.”

It takes one look to deduct that aside from being dry, the shirt offered is warmer and of better quality than the threadbare shirt he’s currently wearing. She doesn’t ask him why he’s wearing only one thin layer in the icy rain or how he got the tears in his shirt. Dick pulls off his shirt and hands it to her, quickly putting on her sweater. It has the extra bonus of smelling strongly of her, so while her scent lasts, he’ll feel better. It’s just something about other people’s secretion and scent that makes him feel a little bit less melancholy. That’s why Packrunners are both his bane and saviours at the same time. They’re the ones most likely to hunt him, but also the ones most likely to touch him and leave scent marks. Progs and Packrunners are both physical with strangers in a way Conservatives aren’t. But a Prog’s touch has no or very little effect on him. “Thank you, dear.”

“Don’t mention it. Here. This one's on the house. Enjoy yourself. And don’t make trouble and make me regret this,” the waitress says, handing over the drink before she leaves him with a friendly smile. 

Confused, Dick sniffs the drink suspiciously. He can’t catch anything that shouldn't be there, just alcohol and juice.

They're not going to throw him out. She said they're protective of their patrons and handed him a drink, turning him into a patron. That means he can stay here until closing before making his escape. There's no rush.

He takes a careful sip of the drink. It's strong. The first sip makes him shudder, then sneeze. A delicious warmth spreads from his belly and outwards to his cold limbs. He decides he likes alcohol. 

He’s never had alcohol. If he had, maybe he would have realised that it's a bad idea to drink on an empty stomach, especially after a run where he'd already spent too much of his precious energy. So one drink later he's drunk.

He finds himself on the dance floor, dancing behind the beautiful Hale girl, trying, somewhat successfully he thinks, to emulate her movements. He can smell that both she and her partner are Juvies still, in the process of presenting. They move like they have endless energy and they both smell gorgeous. Dick wants their scent all over him. He's always liked the scent of some Hales, but the strange disease had gone like wildfire through the Hale ranks, killing most of the ones smelling as good as the Hale girl. Her partner is unknown to Dick, but he already loves the young man's scent.

He shadows them, like he once used to compete with his brother he now challenges himself to be as good as the Hale girl, copying her moves with barely any delays. When he's an Alpha this is how he'll seduce his Os. This is how he can impress despite his handicap. He keeps her body in focus, only looking up now and then to briefly meet the gaze of her partner. 

He’s doing good, until someone bumps into him from behind, making him misstep horribly and trip over his own foot. He takes an unintentional nosedive.

He never hits the floor. 

The young Alpha-in-coming dives under the Hale girl's arm to catch him with a strong grip on his upper arm, steadying him and pulling him up. Suddenly he has an arm around his waist, a guiding palm in the small of his back, and his other hand held firm in a leading grip. "Had a few too many drinks?" the young man asks amusedly.

"Oh, do be nice. I think I'm doing rather well for my first time swinging," Dick answers with a smile, easily finding the rhythm with the young man's expert guidance. 

The young man looks surprised. "First time? That explains it. Hey, Mal! It's his first time swinging!" he says over Dick's shoulder.

The Hale O-to-be puts one of her hands on Dick’s hip from behind and covers their hands with her other one. She dances along with ease, letting the Alpha-in-coming steer all three of them. “Explains what? That I tripped?” Dick asks, feeling slightly insulted at the implication that he wasn’t doing a good job keeping up with them. Only slightly, since they’re masterful and he’s locked in a heaven-scented sandwich between them.

“No, silly,” the Hale girl says brightly. “Why you were copying me instead of dancing with me.”

“Swing is a bit different,” the young man says, smiling widely. “Anyone can lead or do their own thing. No need to mirror the Os. Let us show you.” With that, the pair incorporate him in their dance. Someone’s always holding his hand, keeping their arm around him somehow. He’s spun away, or spun in to be pressed back to chest. The dance is fast-paced and playful, and Dick soon realises that they’re not following set rules. All dances have basic steps and rules, often with certain moves performed by the experts. But his two partners are dancing for the joy of moving, and Dick starts feeling confident enough to improvise, incorporating moves from other dances he knows and showing off how agile he is in hopes to impress them. When he succeeds, they emulate him, learning the moves for themselves. They do jumps, lifts, flips, and after they’ve done them they do them with him, teaching him on the go. As a result, he’s being held and getting their sweat and secretion all over.

Dick often lies to himself. He tells himself that he’s doing better than he is. That he doesn’t care for people’s scents and that he doesn’t need other people. He knows it isn’t true. His parents had given him a fade of his bonds to make him die. If he goes for too long without getting someone’s scent on him, he’s overtaken by a depression darker than the deepest abyss. He starts forgetting to breathe, becomes cold, and his heart slows down. Normally people lose their scent when they’ve given up. When the will to live is gone, the scent fades. Dick’s determination to live burns hotly, so he’s constantly searching for his next fix of scent. If he could exist without a scent, he’d be a lot more successful than he is. But he needs other people’s scent on and around him. Wherever he lives, he steals fabric and clothing soaked in others’ secretion, and things that have been vigorously marked. He makes nests from these things to sleep in. It makes his nests easy to find. By the time his scentlessness has spread to the things and fabric, they’re not nearly as valuable to him and he has to find new things that are scented. The slums are overcrowded with desperate people and his homes are often found and raided. This. Being swathed in two prosperous, gorgeous scents, is his life-drug. 

He can feel his energy start to wane rapidly. He _knows_ he needs to rest and find something to eat. He needs to conserve his energy, but, like a junkie, he’s afraid that if he takes a break they won’t invite him back in for more. So he pushes himself despite exhaustion and increasing dizziness. They’re all red-faced and sweaty, grinning widely with teethed canines. The music never stops. The musicians on stage take breaks individually. Dick’s two partners appear to have endless energy. He doesn’t get how they’re not tiring.

“Hey! Mar! _Hydrate!_ ” Someone’s yelling on the dance floor. Dick smells someone coming close fast, someone angry. Dick pays attention to the hostile person even if his partners don’t. When the angry man grabs Dick’s Alpha-in-coming by the arm with a jerk, Dick doesn’t think. He dives between the two to growl protectively and show his teeth at the hostile newcomer.

He knows right away that it’s a mistake. 

He’s trapped between two men both smelling of sudden anger, both a head or more taller than him, both in prime health, broad-shouldered and full of muscles. The newcomer he’s bravely facing off with, with only a foot to spare, is the most glorious human being he’s ever smelt, and brother to the Alpha-in-coming.

The newcomer looks down at him with a scowl and drops fangs with impressive speed and no hint of pain in his scent, growling a counter-threat.

Dick drops his own fangs, matching the Alpha for speed. It hurts going this fast but his opponent has no way of knowing that. It used to hurt a lot more when he was younger. Because of it, he started doing it more to get used to it so he could do things like this, adding a tiny bit of intimidation by appearing unaffected.

Behind him, he can smell anger from both his dance partners now. In the corner of his eye, he sees the young Alpha-in-coming sidestep. Dick holds out his arms to his sides and takes a step to the side to keep himself between his dance partners and the newcomer.

The newcomer abruptly stops growling. "Are you protecting him?" he asks in bemusement.

"Yes,” Dick answers. “I'll admit, it wasn't a thought-through decision. Nevertheless, I'm nothing if not committed to my follies. As such," he growls another threat, urging the newcomer to back off.

Behind him, the anger dissipates. The Hale O-to-be laughs, puts an arm around Dick's waist and rests her chin on his shoulder. "That's right, killjoy. Buzz off, or Chip will get you," she says with a toothy grin.

The newcomer's lip pulls up in a corner - not _quite_ a smile. He briefly lifts his gaze to meet his brother's behind Dick before looking back at Dick, taking in how Dick’s chest heaves in exertion, the redness of his cheeks and the exhaustion in his eyes. His demeanor shifts and he smiles amicably at Dick. "Forgive me. My intention wasn't to cause alarm. My brother has been dancing for hours with no pause and my anger was born out of concern for his health. I came here to make sure he took a break to drink water and perhaps have dinner. By the look of you, I have no doubt you too would benefit from some self-care."

Now that the hostility is gone, Dick feels inexplicably shy all of a sudden, and he can't explain why. It must be the scent. He's never reacted so strongly to a scent before. He wants to faceplant between the Alpha's pecs (Which is how far he reaches without standing on his toes. Otherwise the neck would be the better option.), close his eyes and inhale. 

He bends his neck and smiles coyly, looking up at the Alpha through his lashes. He'd learned long ago that no matter the designation, adopting the body language of a Conservative O of the most religious kind―pleasant, deferential, passive―will make people more positively inclined towards him. “You’re not wrong, though my lack of funds prevents me from indulgences. Maybe you could direct me to the restrooms? I’m sure an establishment such as this has drinkable water available there.”

The newcomer gets no chance to answer. The Hale O-to-be scoffs. “Out of the question, Chip. You’re coming with us.”

“That’s right. Aiden, get us drinks and something to eat, for Chip too, and we’ll take your darned break,” the Alpha-in-coming says with a smirk. Dick yelps when the Alpha-in-coming bends his knees to get an arm around both of Dick’s legs then stands, hoisting Dick straight up. He starts walking away but the newcomer Alpha holds out his hand to stop his brother, looking up at Dick. 

“Any preferences for what to eat? Eel? Fluke? Scallops?” the Alpha asks.

Dick shudders and teeths all his teeth with a face of pure disgust. “With all due respect, if it comes out of the ocean it isn’t meant for human consumption,” he answers. All three of them laugh at his disgust but he doesn’t care. He has to be under imminent threat of death from starvation before he eats seafood. It’s a shame, really, since it’s a relatively easily accessed food source. When he was a little kit he’d scratched his dad up badly every time they’d tried to force him to eat fish or mussels. One time he almost bit dad’s finger off.

Newcomer-Alpha grins at him. “I’ll see what I can get you,” he says with a playful narrowing of his eyes before turning to head towards the bar.

Dick’s carried towards the back of the room, sitting down on the Alpha-in-coming’s shoulder not to lose his balance. He’d be scared by the situation―people don’t just _give you_ food, and being carried this way locks his feet in a way that makes it hard to get away without falling and hurting himself. But the Hale O-to-be is smiling up at him and they're heading towards the back of the locale where there are no exits, so they’re not taking him outside to be caught by the Snatchers. He tries to relax.

They're heading for a table in the back, just by the corner where there’s a corner-couch, an armchair and several chairs. It's already occupied and when they're closing in the Alpha-in-coming flares and growls a hostile 'get lost'. Some of the people on the couch get up and quickly grab the two girls still sitting there, helping them rearrange themselves on someone's lap or on a chair. The guy carrying Dick stops growling.

Dick only recognizes two people at the table by sight - a Hale and a Bolton. He withholds his knee-jerk reaction to flee from the Bolton. When they're close enough to single out scents he identifies Cavelli, Swift, Jayhawk, and Crohn. He keeps passive, hoping Antoine Bolton won’t do anything to him here, surrounded by people who _seem_ friendly.

He’s manhandled halfway down to the floor and held so he’s facing the Alpha-in-coming from the side, wrapping his legs around the Alpha-in-coming’s midriff to help carry his weight. “Alright, Chip. I’m Marlon, but my friends call me Mar. Introduction,” he says, tipping his head to the side in an invite for Dick to scent. Dick does, then offers his own neck. Primals, Packrunners or not, always want to scent him back. It’s startling, but Dick likes it. It makes him feel like a real person. 

Mar scents him thoroughly, before the Hale O-to-be impatiently says, "My turn," and tugs on Dick's shirt sleeve. She introduces herself as 'Mal', short for Malicia. After that Marlon suddenly tips him to the side towards the Bolton Alpha. Dick nearly recoils from fright, managing to keep it down to a submissive licking of lips. But the Bolton only offers his neck, friendly as can be. He’s introduced as Knuckles, not Antoine or Tony that Dick’s heard him called when he was living in the Perlino Arch, practically on top of the Bolton core-home.

Marlon seems determined not to let him down during introductions, tipping him in the direction of those he greets. When he can’t reach them for a normal scenting he shakes their hand. The Hale Alpha, Laurent, has dark-brown hair that brushes his shoulders in the back and is long enough for him to push behind his ears in the front - but not to stay there. He’s got warm, kind brown eyes and smells lovely. Without thinking, Dick rubs his hand over his neck after having shaken hands. For him, it’s a self-indulgence that boosts his mood and health, with the added bonus of being a general gesture of ‘I like your scent and want to get to know you’. He does it sometimes even if none of that is true, it still boosts his health and makes people more positively inclined towards him. 

Laurent sniffs his own hand while looking at Dick with an open expression. Then he does something _nobody_ has _ever_ done for Dick before: He rubs his hand over his neck. Dick chirps in surprise and trills joyously before he can stop himself and put on a mask of friendly indifference. Laurent smiles broadly at him with teethed canines and briefly flares a bright blue, adding sincerity to the gesture.

The thing is, there are different levels of scentlessness. You can lack a personal scent, but still have your marker so people can tell if you are a Juvie, Alpha, or Omega. At that stage, when you come close enough you can pick up scents of hair and skin, but generic, like when hair has been caught on a brush for a very long time and it’s no longer possible to tell whose hair it is. At that stage, a bond could still keep for weeks, but you can’t track someone based on bonds and generic scent. At his stage, though, people regard him as a lost cause. A bond lasts for a few days, markings for hours, tops. He’s not at the last stage of scentlessness. If he gets a tiny cut or scrape, you can’t smell it, but you can still smell his blood if he gets bigger injuries. At the last stage, you wouldn’t even be able to smell that. By then, unless you have several strong bonds and people marking you obsessively, caring for you non-stop, it’s too late. 

Everyone expects Dick to die any day now. They’ve thought that since the day he was born. Maybe, in a better world, where no war was raging and the slums weren’t over-populated by refugees, both domestic and from abroad, all on the brink of starvation, maybe then, things would be different. But as it stands, people don’t dare to bond with Dick. A bond goes two-ways and it hurts when it’s ripped by death no matter how new it is. So people don’t bond with him, thinking he’s about to keel over at any point. It’s a risk for them. That’s why Laurent’s gesture is so enormous to Dick. It implies the Alpha is willing to risk a hard fade for him. To be friends, for real. 

He’s introduced to the Omega Buck Cavelli, the Alphas Marshall Swift, and Topper and Jitterbug Jayhawk. They’re all just giving him their first name, but he knows their pack-scents. Then there’s the Omega Jennifer Crohn, and Betty, and another Alpha named Joseph who is busy deep-purring Buck. Satisfied that everyone got to say hello, Marlon finally lets him down onto the couch on the space that he’d cleared by growling. Malicia sits down beside him and pushes him inward towards Laurent to make space for Marlon. Laurent lifts his arm and puts it on the backrest so all of them can fit and then Dick’s cooped up under his arm with Mal leaning over him to grin at Laurent, patting Dick’s chest. “You won’t believe how skilled Chip is,” she tells Laurent. “It was his first time swinging and he kept up with us, no problem at all. Then he started improvising, and he had these killer-diller moves I’ve never seen before.”

“I stole that from some African and Russian dances I know,” Dick shares shyly.

Marlon leans in over them, a lit cigarette pinched in his mouth, holding out an open golden cigarette case with three cigarettes pushed forward. Laurent and Mal take one. When Dick doesn’t (he’s distracted. It looks like _real_ gold) Marlon makes a demanding gesture with the case, prompting Dick to take one too. “You’re leaving out the best part, where he threatened to rip Aiden’s throat out,” Marlon says through the side of his mouth and lights their cigarettes with a matching golden lighter.

“He did what?” Laurent says with a bemused chuckle.

“Aid grabbed my arm and Chip dove between us, right up in Aiden’s face growling murder,” Mar says with a smirk.

“It was more up in his chest, really,” Dick corrects. Aiden is a giant in comparison to Dick’s small stature. 

“I thought you had a personal beef with him,” Mar goes on, looking at Dick then back at Laurent, “So I was about to step around so he could see me when I told him to take a powder. But the little twerp goes like this,” Marlon holds out his arms to his sides in front of Dick and Mal, mimicking how Dick shielded them, "and stepped along with me. That's when we got that his only beef with Aid was his annoyance with me."

"Brave as a badger," Aiden says, coming towards the table carrying three large glasses while two waitresses follow him carrying trays. One of them is the one that gave Dick her shirt. She meets his gaze and gives him a smile.

Knuckles laughs. "Aiden would kill you with one punch," he says to Dick.

"Would he really? He doesn't strike me as unnecessarily cruel," Dick says with his default pleasant smile and takes a drag on the cigarette. He loves the relaxed feeling he gets from nicotine, but refuses to spend money on cigarettes.

"Hah! It would be a mercy kill, not cruelty," Knuckles jokes and laughs at his own joke. His laugh cuts off and he licks his lips when Marlon growls at him. Dick hates the Bolton Alpha for making a joke of his scentlessness. He’s grown a beard since Dick last saw him. Dick doesn’t like that either. "Seriously, though, you can't actually believe you could take him?" Knuckles asks.

"Of course, I can. From behind, in a dark alley," Dick answers with a smirk and a raised eyebrow. "There's a reason the military pays a fortune to make their soldiers be like me, after all." He senses the sudden tension around him and he realises too late it could be construed as a threat.

It's gone as soon as it came when Aiden laughs and puts down the glasses - water for Marlon, grape juice for Malicia, and orange juice for Dick. "That's right. I'd never smell him coming."

"That's not what I meant," Knuckles argues with a sting of annoyance in his scent.

“Phrasing is important, dear,” Dick points out. For some reason that gets a couple of chuckles and makes Marlon purr contentedly. “I know what you meant, but it’s not what you asked. As for whether I could take him face to face? Of course not. I’m not a fighter.” Dick gestures a thank you at Aiden for the juice, then picks up the treasured drink to down it while the waitresses put drinks and shots in front of everyone.

“That’s right, you couldn’t. These parts of the city aren’t meant for little shrimps like you. Nothing personal, but it’s survival of the fittest,” Knuckles says looking way too smug at being given a win.

“Quite right, dear. Only the fittest, biggest and strongest can make it in this world. Puny little me doesn’t stand a chance,” Dick says. “Speaking of, how is Martijn doing these days? I haven’t seen him in a while.” Last time Dick saw him he was bleeding out in a gutter from several nasty stab wounds in the back. It’s very satisfying to see Knuckles’ smug smile freeze on his face. Dick takes another deep drag on the cig and slowly blows the smoke upward.

There are a few scandalized in-drawn breaths and hiccuped surprised laughs quickly swallowed.

“Who’s Martijn?” Buck Cavelli asks at the same time as Aiden says “This is getting ugly fast. Would you try to keep it civil?” in a tone that made it an order.

“Martijn was Knuckles’ twin brother,” one of the Jayhawks says. “He got killed two years ago.”

“That’s a low blow,” Marlon states with a discontent frown at Dick.

To Dick’s surprise, Knuckles comes to his defence. “No, it wasn’t,” he says, grinning all of a sudden. He points at Dick. “I knew I recognised you from somewhere. How are you still alive? Me and Martijn had a good laugh about blowing you up. All those times we mugged you, it wasn’t personal. Dog’s gotta eat. No hard feelings, right?” He looks at the rest of the people around the table. “This guy used to live in the Perlino Arch, just next to our building. He climbs like a monkey and would get in through a tiny darned window no bigger than this,” he holds up his hands to demonstrate the small strip window at the top of the supply closet Dick had made into an apartment. “If you tried getting in from the inside there was only a brick wall. Several members in the pack didn’t believe he was real. We’d call him ghost boy. Marty and I used to make a sport out of mugging him because he was so darned hard to catch. He was scentless back then too.” He grins at Dick. “Darn, you’re a persistent little thing, aren’t you? How did you survive the explosion?”

“I heard the messenger come to warn you about the bombing and then the discussion about what you’d do in case of a fire, so I fled. Although, I’ll confess, my chosen hiding place wasn’t ideal. If you ever consider hiding under the pier when someone drops a bomb in the sea, _don’t_ ,” Dick says with a sly smirk, as if the weeks that followed hadn’t been the hardest trial he’d faced in his life.

Again he’s rewarded with laughter. “I’ll drink to that,” Knuckles says and takes one of the shots that’s been placed in front of them. He holds it up for a toast. “To Ghost Boy, for not knowing how to stay dead,” he declares loudly.

The others grab a shot each and Mal puts a shot in his hand before all of them hold up their shots in his direction. As one, they say “To Ghost Boy!” and down their drinks. Dick drinks, the strong liquor burning his throat.

The promised food arrives. Marlon gets a saffron seafood soup and Malicia and Dick are served half a grilled chicken each with potato wedges and a spicy dip. It’s delicious. Dick tries to eat slowly as if he isn’t starving, drinking when prompted to since the shots keep coming. He manages to match his companions’ slow pace of eating until Knuckles leans over the table aiming to grab Dick’s chicken leg. Dick reacts before he can think, grabbing the chicken from the plate with a scooted side-jump over Laurent’s lap to put distance between himself and the Bolton. He’s growling a high-intensity threat of violence, dropping fangs and teething all his teeth, pulse jackhammering. 

“Hey, I just wanted to taste some,” Knuckles protests when some of the people by the table laugh. 

“And you go for the one who needs the food the most? I’m eating the same thing, turd-head,” Mal snipes and kicks Knuckles on the shin under the table.

Dick isn’t taking any chances. He unhinges his jaw with an audible crack to shove the remaining chicken into his mouth, shifting his throat to be able to swallow it whole, bones and all. It makes for more laughter at the same time as several people purr calmingly at him whether they’re laughing or not. 

“Hey, calm down, sweetheart. It isn’t healthy to eat like that,” Aiden coos.

“You lived on Andersen’s territory for a while, didn’t you?” Jennifer Crohn asks Dick. He takes his eyes off of Knuckles for a beat to nod a confirmation to her. She directs her next comment to Aiden, “For someone in his position, eating like that sometimes is the difference between getting to eat or getting the meal stolen. He looks like an easy target, but if he swallows it whole you’re suddenly faced with no food and an angry adversary,” she explains at the same time Laurent makes a soft cooing request for him to come back. Dick pops his jaw back in place and carefully scoots himself back, eyeing Bolton suspiciously.

Laurent pulls him up on his lap. “Relax, Chippy. You’re safe with us. We’re not going to let you starve. If anyone steals your food we’ll get you another serving, okay? On me.”

Dick lets Bolton out of his sight to meet Laurent’s kind, sincere eyes. If he wasn’t drunk, he might not have leaned in to give Laurent’s cheek an affectionate temple rub in thanks. But Laurent chuckles, wraps his arms around him and responds in kind. Malicia leans in to rub her neck against Dick’s shoulder. It’s as if they’d been waiting for permission, both starting to mark him up, _claiming_ him. It’s bliss. Dick closes his eyes and purrs loudly, his potato wedges forgotten.

When they’re done he’s placed back between them, feeling drowsy and drunk, colour returning to his normally bleak world. He finishes his meal at a sedate pace, content to listen to the conversation around him and watch the dynamic. He can’t figure out who holds the highest rank. It’s either Marlon or Aiden. Both of them sit at the outermost seats of the couch. Jennifer and Betty are not part of the group of friends, they’re here to flirt with Aiden. Likewise, Joseph, an outsider, is here to court Buck. Dick wishes Aiden would sit closer. But right now everything is Hale. They smell so good. _He_ smells so good with their markings. He gets stuck watching Malicia while she talks, laughs and smokes. She’s so beautiful. “When I present I want an O like you,” Dick mumbles drowsily, getting her attention. “I used to watch you from the cliffs under the pier. You’d sit on the dock while your brother swam like a dolphin, playing in the water with his friends. But you’d sit there, your beautiful long hair catching the sun, billowing in the wind like a silken pirate flag. I think you were my first kitty crush.”

Mal chirps in surprise and flashes one of her wonderful smiles his way. “I can’t swim and the sea terrifies me,” she confesses. “But I still wanted to hang out with Laurent and our friends so I came along anyway.”

“Will you allow me to court you when I present?” Dick asks dreamily.

Aiden’s been listening in. “When you present? But y―” he starts protesting with a confused scowl.

Dick’s head snaps around to glare at him. “Oh, shush. I _will_ present. I was born scentless and people have been saying I’ve only got days to live ever since. Frankly, I’m sick of hearing ‘Hey, if you’re alive tomorrow, would you come work for us at noon?’ I’m barred from getting food at the homeless shelters and charities because they don’t waste resources on people they think are beyond hope. I can’t get an apartment without paying at least three months rent in advance, and nobody hires me for a steady job because they’ll think I’ll keel over in a week so they’ll have to repeat the hiring process. When it’s bitingly cold and other people huddle together for warmth, I’m not allowed to share those huddles because my body-temperature gets so low I don’t contribute to elevating the temperature. My parents gave me a soft fade when I was six, hoping I’d die and stop wasting their resources by existing, yet they’re the ones that are dead and I’m still here. I’m not dying anytime soon whatever your nose tells you. So I’d appreciate if you’d be so kind not to meddle when I ask for permission to court a pretty O when I come of age. I know she’s remarkable, shares my passion for dancing, is fierce and capable. I’m not asking her to guarantee me a mateship, merely to tolerate my courtship and not to dismiss it out of hand,” he rants. 

Aiden’s mouth opens and closes like a fish then he licks his lips in submission. “It’s not what I meant. But―”

Dick growls. It’s a low-intensity growl, asking Aiden to stop it rather than demanding it, but it shuts the large Alpha right up.

Marlon, who’d become angry all of a sudden during Dick’s rant, (the guy had become angry several times over the course of the evening with no explanation offered, so Dick isn’t alarmed) leans forward to look at Dick over Malicia’s shoulder. “You can court her. I’ll allow it.”

“ _Marlon_! How many times do I have to tell you, it’s not up to you to decide who gets to court any given O?” Aiden bristles.

It starts an argument between the brothers but Dick isn’t listening because Malicia giggles and says, “Yes, Chip. You may court me. And I’m hoping we get to dance again many, many times in the future."

Dick chirps happily and gives her an affectionate temple rub. His heart does elated backflips when she returns the gesture.

“Chip?” Betty says, getting his attention. “I don’t know if this is a rude question, but why would your parents give you a soft fade? Don’t bonds fade quickly by themselves on you?”

“Oh, dear. I’ve never thought of that,” Dick answers honestly.

“They didn’t give him a soft fade, they gave themselves one,” Aiden says grimly.

“Lucky for them that they’re dead already or I would have killed them for it,” Marlon mutters into his glass before taking a deep drink. “You _never_ abandon your kits for anything.”

“Scentless or not, bonds always go two ways,” Aiden adds towards Betty. “So if you form a bond with Chip and something happens to him, you’ll experience a hard fade even if you can't smell the bond on you.”

Marlon growls, staring into his glass. “I hope the fade is what killed them,” he mutters. He’s starting to get very drunk.

“Really? I didn’t know that,” Betty says. She takes a swallow of her drink with a thoughtful frown, then looks at the two Hales. “You must be very brave then, to be so affectionate with him. You might―” She’s interrupted by a furious roar and ensuing chaos as Marlon launches himself over the table towards her in full rage at the same time as Aiden, Knuckles, and Mal throw themselves in the way to stop him. Dick curls himself into a ball, licking his lips while making a submissive sound. He's too drunk to make a hasty escape. He should have thought of that before he started drinking as much as he has. 

The ruckus soon settles down. Dick feels the heavy thump in the couch when Marlon sits back down. Dick's being grabbed and pulled. Terrified, he increases the volume of his submissive sound. But then he's held, settled against Marlon’s chest on his lap like a little kit. Marlon’s chest vibrates with a calming purr. He still smells enraged, but he rubs his neck on top of Dick’s head and pets him with a hand coated with secretion wherever he can reach. Dick keeps his eyes closed, rolled into a protective ball.

“I’m sorry,” he hears Betty say, close to tears. Several people are purring calmingly.

“You darn well should be!” Marlon snaps with a faint lisp. “How dare you? Mal and Laurent aren’t _brave_ for befriending someone whose personality they like. If anyone’s brave, it’s Chip. He’s the one who'll experience a fade if he doesn’t meet them again within a few days. What’s making Mal and Laurent brave? That a friend of theirs might die? I’ve got news for you, turd-head. People die, and people leave you. If there’s one thing we can be sure of, it’s that. No matter how healthy and fit someone is, they can be taken away like―!” He stops petting Dick to snap his fingers. “It hurts when a bond breaks, but to refrain from creating bonds to avoid that hurt, is cowardice of grand proportions. And you have the _gall_ to call my friends brave, in front of Chip, who no doubt has to suffer on a daily basis because cowards like you don’t dare risk bonding with him. Whose parents tried to cause his death by denying him the bond they owed him by bringing him into existence. Who, within an hour of having met me didn’t hesitate to face off with an Alpha twice his size in my protection. Now _that's_ brave."

Dick opens his eyes to slits, looking up through his lashes at Mar to see he's lisping because he's dropped full fangs. He's got both upper and lower fangs and the lower ones prevent him from closing his mouth properly.

"It's different for Conservatives," Jennifer states carefully. “They don’t have as many bonds as us to protect them from losses.”

“So what are you saying? Because their whole designation is cowardly by nature they should get a pass on being fatheaded, rude, chicken turds? _By Ares!_ We aren’t even talking about serious bonds like a mating bond or the bond to a Main or Patriarch. Just good ol’ friendship bonds. Bonds we’re expected to lose over and over through life. It’s supposed to hurt, losing someone, but we won’t lose our scent and go into life-threatening depression over a friend. To get to that stage you need years of devoted friendship and love. And she’s over there calling them brave for extending the invitation to be friends, when the very action of bonding with him might be life-saving,” Marlon rants, gesturing in the direction of Betty.

Dick opens his eyes fully to look up at the young man holding him. “Are you angry… on my behalf?” he asks uncertainly, wanting to know if he’d understood it correctly. It seems unreal that the launch across the table was for him.

Marlon looks down at him. He reeks of alcohol and his eyes are red and glazed. “Yes. We’re friends now. I’ve decided,” he states with finality.

Dick’s had a lot of kitty crushes. _A lot._ All it takes is for someone to smell moderately good and be a bit kinder than strictly necessary in a given situation. Tonight he’s acquiring several all at once. “I’ve never had friends,” Dick says, speech slurred from the alcohol. Marlon blinks uncomprehendingly at him for all of three seconds before his face turns dark red, a vein pulsating on his forehead, and his chest starts heaving. Dick rolls into a tight ball again, re-uptaking his submissive sound, only broken by two sneezes. He has no idea why that made Mar so angry with him.

Laurent snaps his fingers under Marlon’s nose to catch his attention. Marlon looks up. “You’re scaring him, Mar. Here. Take this.” Licking his lips submissively, Laurent holds out a pill to Mar.

Marlon takes a few deep breaths to calm down, then takes the pill, pops it into his mouth and leans forward to swallow the pill with water. He moves his alcoholic drink away from himself and Laurent chirps gratefully. Then he presses Dick’s head to his chest and purrs an all-is-well straight onto the top of Dick’s skull. “I’m not angry with you, little one,” he murmurs. “I’m angry at your parents for abandoning you. I’m angry, because a lot of people have done you wrong if you have no friends. When we danced and Aiden grabbed me, you protected me without a second thought―”

“Oh, I had second thoughts. And third. And fifth. Your brother is huge. One swipe of those big hands and I’d go flying like a rag,” Dick says, unfolding to look up at Marlon.

Marlon chuckles. “One swipe of those big hands _I_ go flying like a rag,” he jokes. “My point is, you stood your ground even after you’d assessed your opponent. However foolish that may be, you’ve got the makings of a good friend. So a lot of people have done you wrong not to see that.”

Dick braves a smile. “I’ve been amply rewarded for my foolishness. I’ve been fed, and gotten more cuddles than I’ve had since my brother died 9 years ago.”

“You like cuddles?”

Dick purrs in response and rubs his temple against Marlon affectionately. Apparently, it was the right answer because Marlon’s scent quickly turns content. Soon their purrs have synced and they’re both cuddling each other, Marlon’s fingers scraping through Dick’s hair and Dick caressing his midriff, slowly turning into goo. His head is fuzzy and his body warm. He knows he’s ridiculously touch-starved and wonders if Marlon is too, since he’s content cuddling someone scentless. The conversation goes on around them but they’re caught up in their own bubble. “What was that pill he gave you?” Dick mumbles.

“Downer. You want to finish my drink? I shouldn’t have more. I lose control when I get drunk.”

“Okay?” Dick doesn’t want to be ungrateful towards someone who just proclaimed them to be friends. He’s had too much to drink already but he’s enjoying the effect, even though it makes his head spin and his thoughts incoherent. Life's simply good for once. They pause to drink, water for Mar and liquor for Dick, then smoke a cig and go back to cuddling. Now and then, Malicia leans in to pet them both. She makes a joke about Dick being a saviour so none of them have to be subjected to Marlon’s force-cuddling. It’s a dumb joke and Dick laughs, liking the idea of being Malicia’s saviour in any way possible. Anytime Dick throws a glance at the rest of the gang, he finds Aiden looking at him. 

All is well until Marlon’s hand goes to scrape his neck, which is pleasant, then wanders down to touch him just by the knob of his spine. Dick gets a visceral reaction of ‘NO!’ in his whole body. He hisses, head snapping around to bite Marlon’s hand with all his teeth in sharp points. Marlon jerks his hand away in time to avoid it, and the next second Dick’s terrified he’s in trouble. But Marlon and the rest of the gang only laugh. “You don’t like that. Okay, I got it,” Mar says and resumes petting with an amused quirk to his lips, this time avoiding the spot that made Dick react so strongly.

Eventually, everything has to end. In this case, it’s Dick’s bladder that forces him to clumsily free himself from the lap he’s sitting on, and shamble off, even at the risk of not being allowed to continue cuddling when he returns.

Dick unsteadily heads for the bathroom. On the outskirts of the dance floor, someone grabs him by the arm. Dick turns around to face Aiden.

“Hey, Chip, we were never properly introduced. I’m Aiden,” Aiden says with a charming smile fit for an advertisement, then he goes to a knee, tilting his neck to give Dick an easier reach for scenting. Dick sways on his feet for several seconds before he takes the invite and all but faceplants on Aiden’s neck. Aiden catching him in a firm grip is the only thing stopping him from making a complete fool of himself. Not that he cares. Not when he can close his eyes and take one deep breath after another, with his nose pressed right on the gland behind the ear, secretion smearing on his nose and into his nostrils. Aiden chuckles and nudges Dick’s head so he too can scent Dick. Then… he _licks_. Aiden’s warm tongue goes straight over the gland, causing goosebumps and a full-body shiver. Aiden pulls back to scrutinize Dick for a couple of beats. Then he does it again. This time he plays around with his tongue, teasing the gland. Nobody’s ever done that to Dick. It feels amazing. Every gland on his body goes into overdrive, he feels overheated and feverish, and his nethers start to tickle. He rests his forehead against Aiden’s shoulder to just enjoy the foreign touch.

When Aiden stops, he rests his own forehead on Dick’s shoulder and makes a grunting noise.

Dick might be a linguistic genius, but Primal has always been his Achilles’ heel. He speaks it passably, going on instinct. People often got him stumped when they spoke nuanced Primal. This is one of those examples. He’s heard people do the grunting noise countless times but never managed to figure out what it means. “ _Mrrt?_ ” he asks. When someone speaks Primal with you it’s always best to respond in kind.

Aiden turns his head to rest his temple on Dick’s shoulder instead so he can look at him. His eyelids are heavy and his eyes are glazed. He looks as if he’s done drugs like his little brother. He murrs permission in response to Dick’s question. But permission to do what? Dick smirks to hide his confusion. “I need to go to the restroom,” he says instead.

Aiden makes a noise of disappointment, but gets to his feet to let Dick go and do what he was about to. Dick doesn’t want to go, nor stop the thing they were doing, but he sways away and stumbles unsteadily to the restroom to relieve himself. In the doorway, he pauses to look behind him. Aiden’s still standing where Dick left him, looking in Dick’s direction with a concerned frown.

* * *


	5. A Change for the Better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick's life changes drastically overnight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've found a lot of comfort writing Dick's adventures, finding his way to the Williams pack in the altered past. I'm still waiting for my Beta to get to the finished chapter of Dean meeting with the Hales to reinstate peace, but since more than one person have told me you don't mind reading my long and messy vent-writing, I'll most likely post it all as I go.
> 
> Also, one of the comments I got made me cackle: "Thank you so so much for making an a/b/o that’s not all about sex." XD For those of you who've been with me from the start of this series and know what I set out to write (good-natured, mostly plotless porn), this must be pretty funny too. I failed my initial goal spectacularly. But I have no regrets. ;) 
> 
> Thank you for your comments and for bearing with me when I can't stay "on topic" with my writing. Your reactions to my writing is such a mood lifter for me. Especially now that I'm coping with the cancer diagnosis in the family. I don't have words enough to describe how grateful I am for having you stick by me. <3<3<3

* * *

That feverish feeling won’t go away. When he comes back, Marlon resolutely pulls him back onto his lap to share another cigarette. Dick’s too drunk to follow along with any conversations or to think much of anything except the discomfort in his body. He _is_ running a fever, and it’s getting worse. His skin itches, and he feels the need to pant even though he fights off the impulse. He closes his eyes and leans his head on Mar’s shoulder, wanting to sleep but failing. He’s sweating profusely, so much so it feels like he’s wet himself. He doesn’t think he has because Mar doesn’t react. Mar puts a blessedly cold hand on his forehead, then rocks him, cooing comfortingly.

After an indeterminable amount of time, Aiden says they need to go. Dick suddenly remembers the Snatchers possibly still waiting for him upstairs and stirs to life. “Which direction are you heading?” he slurs.

“Towards the bridge,” Mar answers.

“Perfect. Any chance I can get a piggyback ride? We’re heading the same direction,” Dick asks and looks at his lap, smiling in embarrassment. “I think I’ve had too much to drink. Don’t trust my legs.” He has no idea how he came up with the idea to ask such an outlandish thing. Normally, he never would. He knows the answer is no. It must be the alcohol making him stupid.

“Of course,” Marlon answers, stunning Dick.

Bolton laughs. “You’re seriously gonna carry him?”

“Yes. Unlike you, I’m not weak, and he weighs less than a sack of potatoes,” Marlon sneers.

Dick loves him. 

Yet after saying goodbye and helping Dick stagger to the stairs, it’s Aiden that picks him up to carry him against his chest, one hand under his ass and the other around his back. Dick wraps his arms and legs around him to help carry his own weight, planting his nose against Aiden’s heavenly-smelling throat. “ _Jinkies_ , sweetheart, you’re in Heat,” Aiden mutters under his breath. “You’re so wet I can feel it.”

“Sorry about that. I’m sweating. I’m afraid I’m running a fever,” Dick answers drowsily as they climb the stairs, Marlon walking ahead.

“Sweat? Fever? Is that what we’re calling it? _Athena._ ”

Dick’s not listening because they’re exiting and saying goodbye to the giant at the door. Dick spots the three men that had been chasing him waiting by the other wall, where the direction of the wind and the slight overhang of the roof above offers them protection from the drizzle. Lemon-eyes laughs as they pass, and says “Well played, Skippy,” giving Dick a wink when he’s being carried past them. The other two curse. Dick closes his eyes and Aiden growls a threat of keep-away. 

Dick loves him.

Snatchers go for loners nobody will miss, not people escorted―carried―by two well-muscled giants wearing expensive clothing. Dick’s surprised how good-natured Lemon-eyes was after waiting outside a club for hours all for nothing. He wonders if Mar and Aiden would’ve protected him if he’d told them the truth of why he didn’t want to leave alone. Or maybe, despite Marlon’s declaration of friendship, they would have handed him over to the Snatchers. The Boltons often tipped Snatchers off about potential targets living on their territory. For bribes, naturally.

Dick keeps quiet and burrows his nose back into Aiden’s throat as they walk. The cold rain is a blessing, cooling his overheated body and the steady rhythm is lulling. He gets more and more drowsy. Aiden shifts his hand to touch the exact spot Marlon had earlier. The touch is like a bolt of lightning of sheer pleasure. Dick jerks with a yelp of surprise.

“Hey, don’t do that. He doesn’t like to be touched there, turd-face,” Marlon chastises.

“Wrong,” Aiden protests cockily. “He doesn’t like to be touched there by _you_ , guano brain,” he teases.

“If you’re not going to be good to him, I’ll take him,” Marlon says. Aiden sticks his tongue out and chuckles at Marlon’s responding eye-roll.

Dick settles his face back against Aiden’s neck again, letting the muted jolts of walking lull him back to the dreamland between sleep and wakefulness. He’s aware that Aiden at some point whispers in his ear, “Why the charade, sweetheart? Is it easier for you to survive on the street as a Juvie? Come on, drop the charade for me and I’ll help you ease your symptoms. I’ll be good, and I’ll keep your secret. Mar will too, if you ask him to.” But then Dick drifts into sleep.

He hears distant voices.

“ _Marlon, did he say where he lives?_ ”

“ _No, he just said he was going the same direction._ ”

“ _I don’t feel good about leaving him in this state. Maybe we should take him home? Worst case, we can put him in the stable. He’ll be safe and warm there._ ”

“ _You know how mad they’re going to be at me for bringing home a stranger?_ ”

“ _I’ll take the blame. I’m sure I can give them a good reason. Heck, we can hide him in my room. I’ll lock the door so nobody can get in._ ”

“ _Pfft. At first whiff of― Ooh. Yes. Good idea._ ”

They’re talking about him. They’re taking him somewhere to lock him up. Dick opens his eyes to watch the houses pass, his head rested heavily on Aiden’s shoulder. He recognises one of the houses, telling him they’re nearing the bridge. He needs to get away. He doesn’t want to be locked up. What will they do next? Sell him to the Snatchers? No thanks.

They pass a narrow alley by a red brick building that got mostly demolished by a bomb. There’s a big hole in the middle of the roof. He sees a big gap in the brick under the eaves where the corner of the house is missing. It’s perfect. He waits until they’ve passed two more houses before he wriggles and pushes himself away from Aiden and makes a run for it.

“Hey! Where are you going? Chip, come back!”

He ignores their calls, turns the corner of the alley running towards the wall and jumps up on it, pushing off to the other wall, then back and again, quickly climbing upward. He’s nearly at the top when his worn soles prove too slick in the rain and he slips, starting to fall. He manages to catch the brick edge of the gap and scrambles up, just as the brothers round the corner below. He’s in plain sight above them but they keep running without looking up.

“Where did he go?”

“Darn, he’s fast! _Chiiiip!_ ”

They turn the corner by the other end of the alley, and Dick’s left sitting on the brink of an abyss of decay. He looks into the building. There’s more or less just a shell left. The wooden floors have collapsed, leaving only a few support beams up here by the roof. It’s too dark to see much, but he can hear how cavernous the building is. It smells of mould, fungus, moss, and decaying wood and brick. He flares to better see the beams in front of him. On the other side, there are a few planks still resting on the beams - what once must have been the attic. Dick wants to get over there. The first beam he puts his hand on crumbles wetly under his fingers. It appears rotten all the way through. The second one crumbles too, but only the outer layer, the core seems fine. He sniffs it too, to confirm it. Then he carefully and very slowly lays down on it to distribute his weight before he begins scooting himself forward. It takes time but he makes it to the planks. Their edges are wet, mushy with decay, but by the wall, they’ve remained dry and firm. Dick makes his way over there, rolls into a ball and soon falls asleep.

The upcoming days are hell. The first time he wakes up he’s nauseous with a killer headache in addition to the fever. He manages to fall asleep again, and the following days or hours are a haze. At one point he wakes up to daylight shining brightly into his hideaway. As he’d assessed, all the floors are missing and are decomposing at the bottom of the building which is covered in vegetation. The building is a mouldy miniature jungle-haven locked into the crumbling brick shell. There are even two trees growing in the middle where the light is the brightest. Dick just groans and pelts to protect himself against the cold wetness of his clothes, before going back to sleep. 

“Unbelievable. Would you look at this, Butch?”

“Dang. He’s alive?”

“Sure seems that way.”

Dick opens his eyes and squints into the dusky half-light. Across from him, two Alphas are comfortably perched in the gap he came in through.

“Howdy, Kitto,” one of them says.

Dick unpelts, growls and shows his teeth, edging himself away a few inches until he feels rot on the plank.

“Hey now, Kitto. Relax. We ain’t here to harm ya. Butch saw ya go in a few nights ago. The Pyre wagon is making its rounds today and we figured we’d go in to collect yer body so you’d get a proper burnin’. Sure wasn’t expectin’ to find ya alive.”

“Mh. I’d like to stay that way, thank you very much,” Dick answers.

The Alphas laugh and share an amused look. “I feel ya, Kitto. Ain’t gonna feed the Pyre truck with more fuel than necessary. What’s yer name?”

“Richard Roman. But please, call me Dick.”

One of the Alphas purses his lips then grins. “Red Romans? Traded a shirt for a sweater at the Sanctuary a few nights back?”

“Yes? I didn’t _steal_ it,” Dick answers and puts a protective arm across the sweater he’s wearing.

“I know ya didn’t. My friend said she gave her sweater to a boy who was about to keel over and die. Reckon that’d be you. But she said the kits took a shine to ya, and they’ve been askin’ for ‘Chip’?”

“They named me. Didn’t inquire about my name.”

“Sounds like ‘em.” The Alpha takes a pack of cigarettes out of a pocket, takes one, offers one to his companion and then to Dick. Dick shakes his head and waits. He tries scenting their way but his nose is stuffed. All he gets is mould and vague Alpha marker. The Alpha lights his cigarette and the one of his companion, then takes a deep drag while watching Dick. “You gon’ come over here an’ introduce yerself properly?”

“Cute. Why don’t _you_ come over here?” Dick retorts dryly. The beams would never hold for their weight, and he’s well aware of that.

The Alphas snigger. “Sassy bugger, ain’t he?” the first one asks his companion. He looks back at Dick. “Look, Kitto, we ain’t gonna force ya to leave. But if ya stay here we’re gonna have to collect yer body within a coupla weeks. The mould in here,” he gestures inward with his cigarette, “toxic as hell and a faster killer than the sweet sea sickness. First yer nose will clog, then the coughing and nosebleed start. After that comes blindin’ headaches an’ dizzy spells. Since ya climb like us Hales, the dizziness is most likely what’s gonna kill ya, since you’d fall, but if not, yer gonna start coughing blood and drown in yer own blood. Now, Butch an’ me, we ain’t lookin’ to get ya. You come here an’ give us a proper introduction, an’ we’ll play nice, okay?” When Dick still hesitates, the Alpha takes one more drag of his cig, blows out smoke and goes on. “I reckon, ya seen some hard times and met some rough, unfriendly people. Now, that ain’t me an’ Butch. I told ya, the kits, Mal and Laurent, have been askin’ for ya. We ain’t hurtin’ friends of the pack. I promise.”

“You promise? On your pack?”

The Alphas share another amused look. “Yes, Roman, we promise on our pack we ain’t gonna hurt ya. I’m Mercy Smith, and this is Butch Hale. We’re both part of the Hale core. In case ya weren’t aware, yer currently on our territory.”

Packrunners are the bane of his existence. But if there’s one thing you can be sure of, it’s that they keep their promises. Hesitantly, Dick scoots himself to the beam to lay down on it and pull himself towards the Alphas. Mercy goes passive and offers his neck. Carefully, Dick crawls nearer and reaches out to sniff like a skittish animal. This close, he can finally smell the Alpha. He’s definitely a Hale and has a strong friendship bond to the kind waitress at The Sanctuary. He smells nice enough, no hostile emotions Dick can pick up on. He offers his own neck. Mercy leans in to scent him.

“Any bonds?” Butch asks and takes a drag on his cig, watching the two.

“Yup. They’re faded, but that ain’t unexpected all things considered. He’s got a friendship bond with Mal and Mar both,” Mercy answers his companion.

“Huh. Then we sure can’t let him stay here,” Butch says.

Dick scoots back on the beam but both Alphas purr calmingly at him.

“Hey now, Kitto. I ain’t lying about this pretty arboretum bein’ a toxic death trap. We ain’t gonna force ya to leave, but if ya don’t, we’re getting yer friends to come pick ya up. I ain’t keen on seeing any more tragic losses than our pack already has, whether they be outpack or in-pack,” Mercy says and goes back to smoking.

Dick thinks for a beat. This situation is unprecedented. He’s been cornered by big Alphas lots of times, but never had friends that would make people care about what happened to him. “You’re responsible for who gets to live on your territory,” Dick says. “You wouldn’t happen to have a place I could rent? It doesn’t have to be big as long as it’s warm and dry. I can’t give you three months of rent in advance, but I can definitely swing one month’s rent at a time. I just need a few days to scrape it together. I recently lost all my belongings, so I don’t have any money readily available, but I can get it if...” he bites his tongue, cursing himself for sounding desperate.

The Alphas share a look and then start up a Primal discussion. It’s fast and nuanced and, Dick suspects, coded. He understands exactly nothing. Soon, they look back at him. “I may have something for ya. Now, most people ain’t keen to live there since the easiest way in is from the roof, but Butch said ya bounce yer way up a wall like a monkey, so I reckon it’ll do. It’s small, and noisy at times, but it has a wood-burning stove and runnin’ water. Outhouse in the yard. It’s on the edge of the territory in a calm area. Not many night patrols, but it’s safe enough anyways. A few old people and a pack of craftsmen live in the same building. The craftsmen can be noisy. Ya interested?”

Dick nods, dry-mouthed. “I can’t pay three months’ rent in advance,” he repeats, just in case they hadn’t heard that. His heart is hammering in excitement and frail hope.

The Alphas chuckle. “Ain’t nobody askin’ ya to. I’ll give ya a week to get the first rent. You can stay there during that week an’ I ain’t adding that week to the charge. After that, ya pay one week in advance every month to keep the contract. Now, there are rules ya need to adhere to. Ya keep pickpocketing to a minimum on Hale territory, an’ _never_ in an establishment owned by us. No muggings or robberies either, even on the streets. Ain’t no Hale gonna get mad if a drunk fool loses his wallet sleepin’ on a bench outdoors anywhere, but―” he cuts off when Butch starts laughing.

“ _Mercury!_ Look at him, Mercy. Have you ever seen anyone looking so offended?” Butch laughs with puffs of smoke coming out of his nose and mouth.

“I’m sensible enough not to shit where I eat, or bite the hand that feeds me,” Dick snarks. “I understand very well to repay kindness and look out for the well-being and success of my benefactors.”

Mercy chuckles. “Then we understand each other. Come on, we’ll show ya to yer new home.” He gestures for Dick to follow, then both Alphas flick their cigarettes to the street and smoothly heave themselves up on the roof. Dick hastens to follow. They move at a jog, and both Alphas easily jump from one roof to another where the houses are close to each other. Dick has no problem following, but he does worry about the soles of his shoes skidding too much on his landings.

They come to a dead-end alley, and both Alphas glide down a drainpipe just to shimmy up another on the opposite house. Dick backs up then sprints to jump over to the other side just as Mercy heaves himself up on the roof.

Mercy whistles appreciatively. “Impressive jump, Kitto. You’re playin’ in the same league as Laurent. We used to call him Hopper back in the days. He still bounces like a bunny from roof to roof no matter how far apart they are. Here. See this? This is the easiest entrance to yer new home.” Mercy points at a dormer with a window on the roof. “Ya can get in through there too, but that’ll freeze shut during the winter.” He points at a hatch in the roof a bit further away. “And there’s a door inside that’s real hard to get open. The former tenant got locked in several times. He wasn’t a climber. Come on, I’ll give ya the grand tour.” He uses a key to unlock the dormer window and climbs inside. Dick follows.

Inside, lies heaven.

It’s a small room with a bed, a table, a sink, a wood-burning stove, shelves and cupboards built into a wall, a table and a chair. It’s warm and dry. The bed has a mattress. It’s perfect.

“Don’t forget to turn this handle on the chimney when the stove is burning, or the smoke will go inside. There’s only cold water in the tap, but the pipes have never frozen. This door,” he goes to a part of the wall with the built-in shelves and pulls a small lever, making a narrow section swing inward to reveal a storage unit almost as big as the first room, with a ladder up to the roof, “leads to the hatch you saw. Come, I’ll show you how to open it from this side.” Dick follows him inside the storage. It’s cold there and everything goes pitch black when the door closes. He can see that this room lacks insulation and light comes through the tiny cracks in the wooden floor, letting in sounds from the workshop below. Mercy flares brightly so Dick can see the hidden lever on the wall. Then he shows Dick the normal door into the first room and has to attack it rather violently with his shoulder to get it open. It leads to a rickety staircase with doors to other apartments below, and, at the bottom of the stairs, there’s an entrance to the house from the inner yard where the outhouse is located. Through the yard, there’s also an exit to the street. 

Back in the apartment, Mercy hands him the keys then bids him to come up on the roof again. There, he points out what drainpipes are reinforced so he can use them to climb, points out how far he can move freely on the roofs without any Hales taking offense, and promises to spread the word to anyone doing patrols here so they know to expect him. 

The two Alphas are about to leave him after setting day and time they’ll be back to collect the rent, when Dick asks if they perhaps could mark his apartment up for him, since he can’t do it himself. They share one of those looks, sadness entering their scent, but both Alphas climb into his apartment to mark it up thoroughly. Before they leave, they mark him too.

Heaven.

Dick’s left staring at his personal heaven.

He hasn’t lived this well since his parents died. It takes him long days of hustling to get the rent money. He falls asleep exhausted late at night and gets up with the first rays of the sun to work. It’s a lot of money to collect in such a short amount of time, but he makes it. Despite having a personal sanctuary of his own, by the end of the week when rent is paid, he’s feeling depressed and gloomy. His friendship bonds have faded completely. 

So he decides to visit The Sanctuary again.

* * *


	6. The Perks of Friendship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick's experiencing the joy of having friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, a huge thanks to my betas Lisa and Melina. <3

* * *

This time, he walks up to the giant bouncer at the door. “Hello, dear. My name is Richard Roman, but my friends call me Chip. They wouldn’t happen to be here, would they?”

“They might be. If you give me their names,” the bouncer answers neutrally. 

“Laurent and Malicia Hale. Marlon and Aid―” Dick falls silent in bemusement when the bouncer opens the door with a small smile.

“Welcome, Mr. Roman. They’ve been asking me if you’ve come around.” 

Dick thanks him and heads inside. His heart is pounding, and his belly is full of nervous flutters. He’s got friends. Friends who want to see him again. His palms are sweaty. He’s never been this nervous in his life. Uncertainly, he steps into the club at the bottom of the stairs and looks to the dance floor. He doesn’t see anyone he recognises. But someone sees him.”Chip!” Laurent extracts himself from the dancers and walks briskly towards him, flaring and teething his canines with a big grin on his face. Before Dick knows it, he’s engulfed in a hug and lifted from the floor. Elated, he hugs back and lets Laurent spin him around. “You came back! I was afraid you wouldn’t. Where have you been? Are you alright?”

Dick chirps happily and gives Laurent an affectionate temple rub that’s promptly returned. “Working. Mercy Smith offered me a rental on his patrol route, and I had to get the money for the first rent. When we first met, I’d just lost everything I owned, which, granted, wasn’t much. But I’m back on my feet now.”

“You live on our territory now? That’s great! Maybe I could visit you sometime? You want to dance? I’m not nearly as good at it as Mal and Mar, though.”

“I’d love to, dear. Are they here?”

“No. Mal will get here later, but Mar? You never know. Aiden won’t be here until the weekend, if he shows up at all. He’s back in college for the week.”

Dick nearly staggers from the pure shock. He knew the two brothers were rich, but gold cigarette cases or not, this was on another level entirely. “ _College???_ ”

Laurent gives him an amused smirk. “Yes.”

“Then what the heck were they doing here with our kind?”

Laurent laughs. “Slumming it, you mean? No, those two are good. They don’t look down their noses at us, believe me. Mar even Sideruns us. Hey, you want an upper before we dance?”

That’s how Dick’s introduced to the wonderful magic of drugs, and how he finds out how Mal and Mar could dance like they did without getting tired. Laurent is a good dancer, even if it's true that he isn't an Ace like Mal and Mar. Dick doesn't care. He loves to dance and, with the drugs in his system, he's flying higher than ever before. When the music slows down somewhat, Laurent often pulls Dick in to dance close together. They dance cheek to cheek like a Conservative couple. "You make me feel tall," Laurent chuckles. Then gives Dick an apologetic smile. "I hope I didn't offend you."

"Oh my. How dare you state truths like that," Dick answers in mock offense. "Of course not, dear. And with the giant friends you keep, it's no wonder you feel short. I certainly do. Aiden went to a knee to let me scent him." It's not like Laurent is short per se. But Dick is.

Laurent grins. "Yes. Most of my generation born here are shorter than our parents. We think it's the sweet sea sickness that stunted our growth."

"The sweet sea sickness? Mercy mentioned it but I've never heard of it."

"How long have you been in New York?"

"I was born here."

"Do you remember what the ocean used to smell like?"

Dick nods. "I loved that scent. It disappeared after the bombing of the shipyard."

"You can thank Mar for that. The scent came from a poison called EB50 that the factory let out. Mar was just a kit, but as soon as he found out what it was doing to us, he got the factory shut down and the industry forbidden to use that chemical anymore."

"Really? It was responsible for the mysterious illness that was so prevalent around here?"

"Mhm. That's right."

"Oh my. I think it's what killed my family. How come you weren't affected? I saw you swimming like a fish more often than not back then."

Laurent gives him a sad smile. "I was affected. Marlon saved me. He took me to a doctor to get treatment. It was too late to reverse all the ill effects, but the doctor believes I'll live long enough to get mated and see my kits grow up to get mated, as long as I take my medication every day."

Dick looks at Laurent with a growing lump in his throat. "Oh dear. Dear me." He stops dancing to wrap Laurent in a hug. "This is new. I know I run the risk of dying prematurely, but I've never had to worry about someone else."

Laurent laughs and hugs him back. "It's okay. I've got decades left in me. And didn't you worry about your family?"

"Mmh. I miss my siblings sometimes. But I was six when I heard my parents talk about abandoning me in their favour. After the initial heartbreak, it put a chip on my shoulder."

"It's not right. No parents should do that to a kit."

"Oh, but I was scentless since birth. Nothing but a burden."

"No, Chip. You weren't. They did you wrong." Laurent kisses the top of Dick's head, giving him butterflies in his belly. "You want to go grab a drink?"

As usual, Dick finds himself unable to say no. They go to the bar and get drinks. Laurent offers him a cigarette. "All of us who were kits back then and lived near the harbour were affected by the poison. Even people like my cousin Mal, who refused to swim and hates seafood. Most have hidden handicaps. Stunted growth is one of the common ones, as are migraines."

"Well, I'm still hoping to grow a few inches more. My parents were both tall. But maybe I should lower my expectations."

"Even if you don't get taller, you're great. You remind me of Marlon with your instant affection."

"I like him. But I seem to recall them talking about locking me up, on the way home. It's a bit fuzzy, to be honest."

Laurent sniggers. "You were pretty wasted. I'm not going to say that you misheard, but I can guarantee they didn't mean what you thought they meant. Marlon is my best friend, and the best friend you could ever have, but… he's a bit… prickly. Especially when he's drunk."

"How do you mean, prickly?"

Laurent shifts and looks away. "He's got… issues. He's got a hair-trigger temper and sometimes when he gets violent he can't stop. He's impulsive, blunt, and quite frankly, something of an asshole. But I love him to bits, and he's all heart. He'll give his all for those he cares about, no matter the cost to himself." He says the last bit with a small, private smile.

"What about Aiden?"

Laurent's smile turns dreamy and he sighs longingly.

"Yes, dear, that's what he smells like. I'm more curious about his personality," Dick says.

Laurent laughs and gives him an odd look. "Alright. He's perfect."

"Perfect…" Dick says with clear scepticism.

"In every conceivable way. Unlike Mar, Aiden has no issues. He's kind and gentle and brave and funny and―"

"And you have a crush on him," Dick smirks.

Laurent chuckles and takes a drag on his cig. "It's hardly a secret."

"I don't blame you."

"Want to know something silly? I used to wish I’d present as an O so I could mate him. I knew it was silly back then already. I’m damaged goods. Why would he want me, right? Plus, Marlon has a mercenary friend that pops by every few years and I’m head over heels for him too. He’s an O but he still won’t mate me, so there you have it. Damaged goods,” Laurent says with an awkward chuckle.

“A male O? That’s rare. I think I’ve only met two in my life.” Dick’s completely baffled by Laurent’s lack of confidence in himself. “I don’t know how much of a consolation it is, but, if I presented as an Omega, I’d consider you prime mate material. As it is, I’m set on your sister, no wait, a cousin, was she? So how’s that for a hopeless goal? I don’t even have a scent to entice her with,” Dick says with a small smile.

“I think Mal can see beyond that. She’s like a sister to me, and she’s not nearly as hard and cold as she makes out to be. We’ve lost a lot of family and loved ones, she more than me, and she often puts on this cold mask pretending she doesn’t care. Which is bullcrap. But you don’t have to say you’d mate me, just to be kind. I know how little I have to offer in comparison to the company I keep.”

Dick doesn’t think Mal is cold and hard. It’s not a side he’s seen. He reaches out to tug at Laurent’s shirt. “You’re kind, friendly, generous, and willing to open your heart to people even when it may bring heartache. Plus you’re handsome, smell fantastic and have a gorgeous flare. How is that not mate material?”

Laurent gives him a bright smile and looks at his lap. “Thanks.”

“While we’re confessing silly daydreams… Back when I was a kit, after my parents decided to get rid of me, I used to daydream of miraculously being cured.” Dick takes a final drag of his cigarette, burning his fingers and ditching it in an ashtray before he goes on. “I’d daydream of having the prettiest scent anyone had ever smelt. My parents would beg me to forgive them, and I’d tell them to take a long walk on a short pier. I was of dual minds about my siblings. Sometimes, I’d take them away with me and give them a great life, leaving my parents behind, crying at being abandoned. Sometimes, I’d tell my siblings to take a powder too, since they were the reason our parents didn’t want me. It wasn’t their fault. But I both loved them and hated them for getting what I wanted.” Maybe it’s the drugs making him talk so freely, maybe it’s just Laurent, but for once Dick doesn’t feel his usual need to hide what’s inside of him.

“It’s not a silly daydream. I think anyone would be having those thoughts in your position.”

“Perhaps. I’ve resigned myself to my state being incurable. When strangers ask how I’m doing, I tell them I’m fine. That it’s different for me since I was born this way.” He sees Laurent’s look and smirks faintly. “I never could fool Packrunners. You simply have too much experience and understanding of these things, too many generations of knowledge being shared among you. So you know I’m lying. Still, I’m not as badly affected as other people who lose their scent. I think it’s my burning desire to be alive at all cost that keeps me going. Nevertheless, I get gloomy. My world is bleak most of the time. I know it’s my lack of scent doing it, so I have reason to want one. But since I met you guys, I’m suddenly terrified of gaining a scent.”

“Why?” Laurent asks in bafflement.

“Isn’t it obvious, dear? What if you don’t like it?”

“I can guarantee that we will. You formed friendship bonds with both Mal and Mar the first time you met them. That means more than just personal chemistry. It means you have a scent-match as well.”

“Mh. It’s irrelevant in reality, but those fears still linger. But to return to the question of mates, when I’m alone I fancy myself as quite a catch,” Dick confesses. “Despite the odds stacked against me, I’ve prevailed when going through heartbreak and hardship. I’ve seen people much more privileged than me going under in far less dire situations than I’ve gone through. I’m talented, intelligent, and nimble. I _am_ a catch. Then I go out in the real world and it reminds me I’m bottom rung. I don’t fancy myself as low ranking, yet I’m constantly treated as such. It’s irksome.”

Laurent grins. “Better stop talking or I’m gonna end up hoping you’ll present as an O.”

Dick chuckles and raises his glass. Laurent clinks his own glass with his then they both drain their drinks.

"Chip!" Malicia makes her way towards the bar, resolutely shoving an Alpha out of the way when he doesn't move out of her path fast enough.

For the second time today, Dick's swept into a tight hug. "Oh, you little bastard! How dare you stay away long enough for our bond to fade?" she scolds and rubs her neck and temples against him to mark him up. Dick smiles so hard his cheeks hurt, purring and chirping with joy. If someone a few weeks ago had told him that a Hale would be marking him, upset that he'd lost their bond, he would have thought they were crazy. "I've been so worried, squirt."

"You've only met me once before, dear,” Dick feels obliged to point out.

Laurent laughs. “Listen to him… just a moment ago he said he’d set his heart on mating you once he presents.”

“See? One meeting it’s all it takes to care for someone. But if you’re gonna mate me you’ll have to earn it. For starters, you’ll have to dance with me.”

That night, after the three of them danced, had a few drinks, and shared a meal that Laurent supplied, Dick feels bold enough to ask if the two of them would like to come see where he lives now. They go the straightest way, over the rooftops, and he enjoys impressing them with his climbing and jumping skills. They show him where drainpipes are reinforced, point out good routes, and stop to say hello and introduce him to Hale sentries. He’s incredibly proud to present them with his home, as modest as it is. He knows they live a lot better but they don’t seem to look down on his quarters. He offers them bread, water and cheese. It’s the only thing he’s got at home. He’s proud to have a home where he can store food and leave for the day, knowing it will still be there when he gets home. He doesn’t really know how to cook, aside from skewering things on a stick and holding them over a fire.

When they leave, the whole room, Dick included, smells like them. He’s got friendship bonds to both and he’s riding high. From this moment, Dick rarely stays away from The Sanctuary. Laurent’s almost always there, and Mal a bit less frequently. The others come in at least one or two days a week. Dick also seeks out the company of Laurent and Malicia outside of the club. He becomes friendly with the Hales that frequent the patrol route where he lives―Mercy, Butch, Chaz, Keg, Twerp, Knickers―and makes a habit out of reporting what he’s seen and heard that might be of interest to the Hales. The pack in his building are polite, but they make it clear that they’re not too happy to have a stranger living so close. When he feels lonely at night he spies on the sleeping pack through a knothole on the floor of his storage room. He often watches their kits playing in the inner yard while he’s having dinner on the roof. He makes friends with Kip, one of the kits, and teaches her how to throw rocks accurately to hunt for pigeons and rats.

Having friendship bonds makes a lot of difference when doing business, especially with business owners in the Hale territory. It’s like negotiating with a Hale standing beside you, vouching for you.

The greatest difference, is having an apartment protected by the Hales. He can own things. He can stock up on food. If someone should break in and steal from him, they’d be in trouble. The Hales own his building. They don’t own every building in their territory, but they keep track of who lives where, and they protect the tenants and businesses that pay protection fees or live in houses owned by the pack. The first months Dick spends most of his income on his home, making it a proper nest, then he starts putting money aside for the future.

A fear he’s had comes to pass. His slippery soles fail to grip properly as he scaling up a wall, and he takes a nasty fall. He’s bedridden for nearly a month while healing up. The Hales come to check in on him - both Mal and Laurent, as well as the sentries patrolling the route where he lives. Having friends has perks that ignite a longing for something more in him - a pack of his own. For the first time, Dick’s identifying as a designation, even if he keeps lying, claiming to be the designation of those he does business with.

Everything isn’t sunshine and rainbows despite lady luck smiling at him. He keeps getting fevers that lay him down for several days a month. Usually they come once a month, but sometimes only two weeks pass between them. When the fevers hit, he either pees himself or sweats so much he soaks his pants. He’s not sure which. He’s too mortified to take this up with his friends, and he’s terrified that maybe it’s the sweet sea sickness creeping up on him. He wouldn’t be the first person who has succumbed to the poison so long after it disappeared from the area.

* * *

Marlon doesn’t want to have sex. Dick wonders why nobody seems to notice. At first, nobody remarks on Mar’s lack of hookups, but as time goes by, good-natured jokes about his failure at getting any action get more frequent. Aiden starts introducing Os to Mar is if he’s expecting Mar to sleep with them. Mar’s foul mood gets increasingly frequent, but it seems to Dick that nobody but him notices how it’s connected to forced interaction with strange Omegas and jabs about inadequacy. Time passes and something changes. Now Marlon has made a performance art of it. He’s quick to seduce someone to get it out of the way. He always asks them the same question: How do I make it good for you?

Dick’s heard him ask that question countless times. Theoretically, it is a good thing. You should care about your partner’s pleasure. Dick might know exactly nothing about sex except that it’s an activity adults enjoy, but he’s seen it often enough to classify it as cuddling on steroids, and he knows cuddling isn’t enjoyable if you’re doing it with someone you’d prefer not be touching you. Only twice has Dick heard the question reflected back to Mar and both times he’d dismissed it with “Don’t worry about me, this is all about you.” He never makes requests. All the others do. Dick’s the only one not having sex in his group of friends, so he’s witnessed them all say things like “Any chance I get to feel those lips wrapped around my dick?”, “I like it when...” and “Ooh, that’s the spot, right there.” Indicators of their preferences that Marlon never gives. When Marlon has sex, he wants to be done fast and frees himself of the O as soon as he’s done. If she herself doesn’t go off to rejoin her friends quickly enough, Mar will make an excuse to go to the restroom. His smile when he looks at the intended O is suave and pleasant, but it drops off his face as soon as she’s out of sight.

In contrast, when Dick moves from another seat to sit in Mar’s lap for a cuddle, Mar starts purring before Dick’s even close, reaching for him. He’ll make requests like “Could you use your claws when you do that?” and “Please don’t stop.” If Dick needs to get up Mar doesn’t want to let him go. His smile is content and relaxed and there’s no tension around his eyes. In conclusion, Dick finds it obvious that Mar doesn’t want to have sex, but he does it anyway to please someone else. And Dick hates that.

One night, Dick’s had enough. He’s watching an O on Marlon’s lap. Marlon’s touching her, keeping a keen eye on her reactions. To Dick, it looks like he’s going down a checklist, testing what usually works. There’s no joy in Marlon’s actions, only a smooth facade. It’s like looking at a twisted image of himself faking gratefulness when Bolton marks him up. It’s a mystery why Bolton does it. “Keep still, Ghost Boy, this is good for you,” he’d say, which is true, and Dick’s health and his general state of mind get better no matter whose markings get smeared against his skin, but he still hates it. That’s what he keeps seeing in Mar. When an O touches Marlon’s dick, he’ll tilt his head back and make a sound of pleasure, and he’ll get an erection and smell of low-key arousal. But when he first started having sex, he hadn’t made those sounds and gestures of pleasure. He started doing that only when an O had remarked on their absence. So Dick’s certain Mar’s reaction is forced. Mar isn’t interested in sex, and it repulses Dick to see Mar put himself through it.

Something just snaps in Dick when the O shifts position to straddle Mar with her back towards him. Mar is swiftly putting on a condom, preparing to enter her when Dick without a thought pulls his legs up on the couch, bunching up for a pounce, and growls coldly.

He gets everyone’s attention. The O looks at him so he does a fast drop of his fangs and increases the deadliness of his growl. He’s telling her that she’s touching something that belongs to him and that she needs to leave pronto or be prepared to fight to the death if she insists on staying. His friends flare, and ask him what’s wrong or tell him to calm down but he ignores them. The only two people who’re important right now are Mar and the O. The only person at the table who isn’t distressed or angry at him for what he’s doing, is Marlon. He’s gone passive, leaning back to look at Dick curiously. It’s the only confirmation Dick needs. He pulls his knife while clawing on his other hand and leaps right over the table. Knuckles dives out of the armchair to avoid him and the O yelps, bouncing up from Marlon’s lap and backpedalling away to keep her distance. She flares a light blue and teeths her canines. “What the hell did I do to you?” she says, voice loud and angry.

Dick throws one look Marlon’s way to find him still watching curiously, not making any attempt to protect his O. Dick looks back at the O and sinks into a fighting stance, claws and knife ready. She’s angry and confused, but not nearly as intimidated as she rightfully should be if she understood Dick’s commitment to his folly. He’s going through a growth spurt and has added two painful inches to his height, but he’s still small and slender, appearing even smaller in the company of Mar, Aiden, Knuckles and Marshall who are absolute units. He thinks the O would be less confrontational if she knew his kill count, if she knew how fast and agile he is. She doesn’t know any of those things. She’s fit, smells prosperous and bears scars. He isn’t facing off with a frail, over-protected Conservative O. Her shirt hangs open exposing her breasts, she’s got a skirt and sturdy steel-toed work boots. She shifts stance, preparing to fight him when he doesn’t answer her with words. Omegas are fearsome fighters. Alphas are often larger and stronger, but give them a few cuts and they begin to tire and rethink their choice to fight unless they’re protecting kits, in which case all bets are off. Omegas, though? They can keep going and going and going. If a first clinch to determine whether the opponent means business or not doesn’t scare them off, then you’re in for a world of trouble. So intimidation is key.

Dick ups the intensity of his possessive growl, making sure his pitch is right so it’s coming through that he’s defending something he owns. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s messed up an inflection in his growl, changing his intended meaning by messing up the pitch. For good measure, he pelts solely to be able to bristle. His pelt is boring, mottled greys and browns lacking any distinguishable pattern. If he’s crouched down almost naked, he knows he looks like a pile of refuse, part of the dirty cityscape. It’s useful camouflage and it’s saved his life many times. Pelting in public is dangerous, but this is a Packrunner-owned venue so he doubts he’s in any trouble for doing it here.

The O frowns deeper, glancing between Marlon and then to Dick. She backs up, smelling angry. “Fine. Next time, don’t involve me in your jealousy games. I’ve got no interest in Alphas already spoken for by another O.” With that, she licks her lips in cursory submission, then turns around and walks away, buttoning her shirt with jerky, angry movements.

Dick turns around to find everyone staring at him with different levels of upset or amusement. Aiden stands up. " _Athena_ , Chip, what the heck is _wrong_ with you? And _you_ ," he scowls at Marlon, "you should be ashamed of yourself! You should _always_ defend your chosen O!"

"No!" Dick nearly shouts. " _You_ should be ashamed of yourself. Mar didn't choose her, _you_ did. At no point did you ask him if he was interested. You quite literally dumped that O on his lap, forcing him to either please you by knotting her, or rudely rebuff her, hurting her feelings in the process.”

“I was _helping him_!”

“Helping him? He’s possibly the only Alpha at this venue capable of competing with you. He’s hardly oblivious to the Os interested in him. Nothing gets him off the dance floor faster than when Os start grinding or get too handsy. When too many of them are flirting with him, he’ll go sit in the corner of the couch instead of his usual place, with Laurent and Mal on either side of him and preferably with me on his lap, building a literal wall between himself and any Os looking to copulate. He’s always come here to dance and relax with friends. Then he presented and still came here to dance and relax, but _you_ won’t let him be.” Dick points an accusing finger at Aiden, Knuckles and the Jayhawks. “You kept making remarks about how he couldn’t pick up Os, questioning his status as an Alpha. Why is it important to you anyway? Are you trying to live vicariously through him?” He directs himself to Aiden again. “You fuck any willing O, whether she smells like she deserves you or not. You’ve got no standards. Are you trying to justify your own contemptible behaviour by forcing your little brother to also behave like the most debased knothead?” Aiden looks furious but by his scent, those words hurt. “Marlon? The pickiest person I know? He who chooses his clothing, his food, his friends, his jewelry, his everything, with meticulous care, and only diverges in his style and taste for gifts given to him by people he loves? And you go shoving random Os at him with an implied order to fuck them. How is that helping? Help Laurent or Knuckles instead. They’re both as enthusiastic about sex with strangers as you, but, since they choose to be friends with you, they’re shooting themselves in the foot because you steal all the attention. Mar doesn’t want your help. He wants to be left alone. How are you not seeing that? He’s been increasingly broody ever since you started forcing him to have sex against his will.”

Aiden is red-faced and furious. It makes Jitterbug and Marshall who are closest to him, sneeze. “I’m not _forcing him to have sex_! Mar! Tell him!” He makes a sweeping gesture towards Mar while staring daggers at Dick.

Dick turns his head to look at Marlon.

Marlon smells of anxiety but looks relaxed. He still has his dick out of his pants, rolling the condom up and down at the base of his erection without appearing to be aware he’s doing so. “It’s okay, Chip,” he says. “When you present, you’ll understand that sometimes you have to have duty sex and poke your penis in people whether you want it or not.”

“Time the hell out,” Knuckles says doing the timeout gesture with a bemused, disbelieving smile. “Chip’s right?” he asks at the same time as someone confusedly mutters “Duty-sex?”

“Yes. But it’s okay. I can deal with it.”

Knuckles bemused smile falters. Aiden looks like someone ran a spear straight through his heart, his anger traded for physical pain and sky-high levels of anxiety and discomfort. A blanket of uncomfortable silence descends on the group.

Surprisingly, it’s Knuckles who speaks first. “No, man. You know I’m not big on apologies, but I thought it was understood that my jokes were passive-aggressive jabs of jealousy. Seriously. You don’t want to have sex, don’t.”

“People get disappointed and worried when I don’t,” Mar answers, gaze flicking briefly to Aiden. “I don’t like to disappoint people. But it’s not a big deal. I just place my mind outside myself, like when I get a painful injury, and then I can do anything. Badda-bing, Badda-boom.”

“ _No, no, no, no―_ ” Aiden starts smelling of saline and dread, the next moment he mutters an unintelligible excuse and rushes away from the table in the direction of the restroom. Mal is quick to bounce out of her seat to follow him. The rest of the friends set their mind to the task of convincing Marlon that he doesn’t have to have sex if he doesn’t want to - a harder task than one would think. Marlon starts getting distressed and reaches out, making grabby hands towards Dick. Dick goes to sit on his lap for a cuddle with a sense of relief. He isn’t bothered by the penis still left untucked. He’s happy to be needed, _wanted_ , as Marlon uses him for both a shield and a comfort.

Aiden comes back almost 10 minutes later. He’s cried and thrown up. Mal’s rubbing his back supportively which might be the oddest thing that’s happened that evening, considering their antagonistic relationship. Aiden crouches down in front of Mar, giving him a guilt-ridden, heartfelt apology that only serves to distress Marlon further. That’s when Mar confesses to being bullied at school for not wanting sex, and having overheard his Main worry about his lack of libido. After a while, calm is restored, thanks to the ever loathsome Knuckles cracking a few insensitive jokes that make Marlon laugh, and once he relaxes, so do the others. 

When Mar and Aiden leave, Knuckles says “You never really know a guy, huh? Mar’s the biggest asshole in our gang. I’d never expected someone as narcissistic as him to let himself be used sexually for the sake of others.”

“He’s self-absorbed, not narcissistic. And nobody could have known,” Jitterbug says.

“Chip did,” Topper points out.

They all turn their heads to look at him as if he has some kind of spooky mind-reading powers. Dick feels compelled to say, “It was a simple observation.”

“Mmh. Not so simple, I don’t think,” Marshall says and takes a swig of his drink. “Maybe it’s because you haven’t presented, while we’re all coloured by our bias. I find it mindblowing that someone doesn’t want to have sex.”

“Perhaps…” Dick answers thoughtfully. “I don’t feel an aversion when I think of sex. However, if it were me, I’d want sex the same way I want cuddles, only with someone I care deeply for. I don’t know much about sex, but I do know it’s a means of bonding. If my physical health allowed for choice in the matter, I’d only want to bond physically to people with whom I shared an emotional bond. Maybe Mar’s the same?”

“You think he’d be into Alphas?” Laurent asks.

“Look who’s horny on Mainstreet,” Mal jokes, elbowing Laurent playfully.

Laurent smiles at his lap, a faint blush spreading on his cheeks as his friends laugh at him. “Can you blame me? Would _you_ say no to him?” he mutters and side-eyes Malicia.

“No, I wouldn’t,” she concedes. 

It turns out that Dick’s right yet again. The next time Mar shows up, Laurent keeps biting his shoulder until Mar smells aroused and threatens to knot him. That’s the first time they get to see Mar have sex he actually enjoys. At that point it’s plain to see for everyone what the difference is - Mar is playful, demanding and enthusiastic in a way they’ve never seen before. Aiden’s the one abstaining in the weeks that follow. Anytime an O approaches him he throws a surreptitious look at Dick, smells hurt, and turns the O down. It doesn’t last, but something Dick said that night got to him. Dick can’t remember exactly what he said during his rant and wonders what it was that had that effect on Aiden.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Beta Melina asked why Dick can't fool Packrunners here but can fool them in his future-canon. It's a relevant question and it has to do with how decimated the Packrunning culture was by the war. Here, most packs have several generations living together and big packs live within close proximity of each other, often with several smaller packs living on their territories with their blessing. Take the difference between the Winchester pack then and now for instance. At this point in time, they're still a big pack, part of a triad sharing a town. When Dean and Sam are born they're a very small pack with a territory that encompasses the town and the surroundings. So much knowledge was lost, and as we saw with Dean, when Dean called and asked about how to snipe someone John could answer those questions but he hadn't thought of teaching his boys that. In many packs, those who held answers died, so the next-gen had to relearn by discovering everything themselves, and they're doing so in a culture that is dominated by Conservative bias that counters what Primals and Packrunners were taught back in the days.


	7. The Warning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Knuckles delivers a warning and Aiden makes yet another dumb decision regarding Dick.

* * *

“You coming tomorrow?” Marshall Swift asks one night when the whole gang is gathered. No outsiders today despite Aiden being present.

“No. It’s the Night of the Star tomorrow,” Dick answers. Tonight he’s seated between Marshall and Buck.

“You’re a Conservative,” Marlon states with a carefully neutral face and sips his drink. He’s never asked Dick about his designation before.

“Oh, am I? You just decided that for me, did you?” Dick retorts in annoyance. He’s picked up enough to know Mar doesn’t like Conservatives, no matter how polite he may occasionally be when they sit by the table. (As polite as he feels like depending on his mood, but that’s just Mar for you. Most nights he has to make a conscious effort to not be an asshole. Dick is certain somebody invented the expression “brutally honest” after having had a chat with Mar. Dick still loves him. Granted, he’s rarely been subjected to the “brutal” part of Mar’s honesty.) Mar often rants about the Conservative conspiracy to do away with other designations. The thing is, though, he’s right. Dick can attest to it himself since he’s been filling out forms for refugees for a decade now. He’s learned that you should always claim to be a Conservative when dealing with the government or you’ll be rejected. Dick scowls at Mar. “ My parents drilled me on the scripture, but when they tried to kill me off it rather soured me on the idea of their splendid, loving god. But tomorrow I’ll wear a star and be the most pious Conservative you’ll ever meet.”

“Why?” Aiden asks. He only ever comes here on weekends but not every weekend.

“There’s a yearly charity concert at Rumsfeldt’s Concert Hall,” Dick answers with a sigh. “But it’s only for Conservatives and the seats devoted to, _my kind_ , are limited. So I need to be there at first light to get a good spot in the queue.”

Aiden’s frown deepens with concern. He looks at Marlon. “Isn’t he talking about Rumsfeldt’s Sing for the Poor?” Marlon’s face is blank with no signs of recognition. Aiden looks back at Dick. “They gather money for homeless shelters and soup kitchens? A few rows in the back are reserved for homeless people, but most of the people in attendance are rich, and the performers are famous artists?”

“That’s right, dear.” 

“But the concert starts at 6 PM,” Aiden says, biting his lip. 

“It’s a long wait,” Dick agrees. “We’re let in at 4 PM so the rich benefactors won’t have to interact with us when they arrive. We’re served free coffee and cookies once we get inside. They recognise me by now. I’m a tad bit tired of how I’m greeted. It’s always ‘Oh, Richard! You’re still alive! What a miracle! We must praise the Star for this gift.’ As if it was somehow their god keeping me alive and not my own accomplishment.”

“Why would they call you Richard?” Marlon asks with a bemused expression.

Dick takes a sip of his drink to hide his amusement. “Because it’s my name?”

“Then why the heck are we calling you Chip?”

There are sniggers around the table, someone muttering “Here we go again…” under their breath.

Dick gives Marlon a pleasant smile. “That’s the nickname you and Mal gave me when we first met. You never actually asked my name. It’s Richard Roman.”

“That’s a disgrace. Richard is a good name. From now on, nobody is allowed to call you Chip anymore. You’re to be addressed as Richard,” Marlon declares. The whole gang around the table is sniggering or holding back laughter now. There must be some private joke here that Dick isn’t privy to.

“Please, call me Dick,” Dick asks.

Marlon looks like Dick’s personally insulted him and the whole gang erupts with laughter. “Dick is an affront. Why would you want anyone to call you that?” Marlon asks.

“Because he’s a dickhead,” Bolton jokes and sniggers at his own comedic genius. 

“If you must know, Richard is the name my parents gave me. I don’t have any aversion towards it. It’s a name as good as any. I don’t particularly care what name I’m called, as long as I understand it’s being used to get my attention. But my little sister was the first one to use the nickname Dick. When she first started talking she called me Ick. As she got better at making words she tried to say Rick, but she still couldn’t pronounce the R, so she dubbed me Dick. She died when she was very young, and the innocent affection she showed me makes me feel a certain fondness for the nickname she gave me.”

Marlon stares at him with a deep frown, jaw muscles clenching. He starts smelling of distress. The rest of their companions are laughing so hard some of them have to gasp for air.

“I think you broke him,” Buck laughs.

“I don’t mind being the butt of a joke occasionally, but could you perhaps tell me why I’m being laughed at?” Dick asks her.

“No, no,” Marshall is quick to interject. “You’re not the butt of this joke, Mar is. He’s particular about names. We used to call Laurent Hopper before Mar forbade it. Now he's stuck in his head trying to solve the equation of a proper name versus a, to him, bad name. Marshall’s right, I think you broke him. Just look at him."

Dick does, and has to chuckle at how his friend looks to be having a minor existential crisis. He's just about to tell Marlon that Richard is fine when Marlon shakes himself out of it and declares, “Okay. Dick is allowed.”

It makes the gang laugh again, but, after that, nobody calls him Chip. 

“So if you’re not a Conservative,” one of the Jayhawks asks, “what gods do you honour?”

Dick hums. “I wouldn’t say I honour any god. But if I had to choose one, it’d be Donarrion.”

“I can see why,” Aiden says. “You identify with him. He went through many hardships always coming out on top. He’s not the only god who can hide his scent, but he is the only one who often chooses to do so even during friendly interactions. He escaped from the demons by hiding his scent, and he was even able to woo one of his mates while scentless, even though his scent is said to be entrancing to anyone. Of course, Donarrion is your god.” Aiden looks incredibly self-satisfied.

Dick smirks. “What a well-thought-through, logical, and _privileged_ analysis. You’re really showing off your education and your naîve world-ignorance with how wrong you are,” he says. Malicia laughs out loud and several others snigger.

For a beat, Aiden looks insulted, but then he plasters one of his advertisement-worthy smiles on his face, the expression belied by the annoyance in his scent, and flares.

Dick nearly gasps in surprise, but somehow manages to look unimpressed. Aiden has the most beautiful fairytale blood-red flare, so much more vibrant than Dick’s own boring poppy red. It makes sense now, why everyone fawns over him when his little brother is just as strapping and handsome.

“Come on, Dick. Admit I’m right,” Aiden cajoles sweetly.

Dick snorts. “Hardly. It’s not difficult to figure out the real reason for my preference. Therefore, I’m going to let someone nicknamed for where he keeps his limited mental faculties give you the answer. Knuckles, would you do me a favour and enlighten Aiden?” he says and makes a swiping gesture inviting Bolton to answer.

“Donarrion’s Gift,” Knuckles says confidently, the insult flying straight over his head. “Everyone who celebrates the holiday is extra charitable towards darn near everyone. So a little Ghost Boy like Dick will get fed, clothed, and may even get money and gifts just for saying hi. And hecking darn everyone around here celebrates it. Even Conservatives. It’s the most uplifting, unifying and fun religious holiday for any widely recognised god. Dick doesn’t care about who Donarrion is and what he’s done. He cares about a full belly and staying warm when it’s freezing outside.”

“And there you have it,” Dick says. Aiden’s disgruntled but trying not to show it, while Knuckles oozes smugness. “Speaking of education, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you. Laurent says you’re in college?”

“Yup,” Aiden answers.

Dick frowns, a troubled wrinkle between his eyebrows. “How did you get in?”

“I’m not as stupid as you painted me,” Aiden grouses. “I got good grades.”

“Oh dear. Words are important and I used mine incorrectly. What I’m really trying to ask is, how do _I_ get in?” Dick corrects and reaches for his glass.

Aiden loses his sulky exterior. “Is that something you want?” he asks curiously with that little wrinkle he gets between his eyes when he’s thinking.

Knuckles laughs. “Don’t even think about it, Dicky. You’ll never get in.”

“ _Knuckles!_ ” Laurent reprimands.

“What? I’m telling him the truth! As a friend, you don’t want to go filling his head with bullshit, spouting off lies like ‘if you can dream it, you can be it’. You think you’re helping, but you might actually kill him. You wanna know why? Dreamers feel their failures more acutely. And to him, a broken heart’s gonna be much more devastating than for you or me. Back when he was living on our territory he had simple, achievable goals. Get food, keep warm and collect stinky fabric for his den in an endless cycle. He’s tough as nails, I’ll give you that. But if he starts setting his goals too high, he’ll be KO’d in no time. We see it all the time in immigrants coming here with big dreams. They die when they fail. The light goes out of them. Dick’s put the bar at a realistic height, so he has a long row of successes behind him. But if we fool him into believin’ he can reach the same heights as Aiden and Mar...?” Knuckles drags a finger across his throat to demonstrate the consequences.

Dick sips his drink with a small smile, trying to keep his loathing for Knuckles from showing on his face. “I simply want to know the requirements. If I don’t know them, I won’t know if it’s realistic or not,” he says pleasantly.

“Pfft. First you gotta know how to read. You know, A, B, D,” Knuckles sneers. Dick gives him a contemptuous look but refrains from commenting. “Then you need to have gone to school for six years minimum, preferably longer. Most rich snobs that go to college have nine years or more.” He looks between Aiden and Mar. “You Williams boys started school when you were what? Six? Seven?”

“Seven,” Aiden supplies, “but we were taught to read earlier.”

Dick sucks in a surprised breath, accidentally inhaling a sip of his drink. He coughs then looks at Aiden. “Pardon me, but would that by any chance be the Long Island Williams pack?”

“Yes. You didn’t know?”

“Dear me, I certainly didn’t.”

“See, Dick?” Knuckles says. “No point in wanting what they have. They’re richer than gods. School is expensive. And even if you could get the money there’s one more reason you can’t go to college. You need to have presented. The moment you present, your body changes and the clock will start ticking for you. I’d say, you survive a month or three, tops.”

“Enough!” Aiden snaps.

"Okay, okay," Knuckles goes on. "He's tough, so two years, three, if we're really lucky. But face it, even for a tough rascal like Dick, his ticker will eventually slow down."

"I said _enough!_ " Aiden's sudden anger makes Laurent who's sitting next to him sneeze. Knuckles looks like he's about to continue, so Aiden flares and growls. Knuckles instantly licks his lips and cowers submissively. "Richard isn't going to die. We won't let him. Moving on." 

"Relax, dear," Dick says. "Knuckles is simply kind enough to remind me of the risks of my misfortune. Speaking of misfortune," he looks at Knuckles, "my condolences about the tragedy that befell your pack."

"What tragedy? We've never been as well off as we are now. There's no tragedy," Bolton answers confusedly.

"No? So it's just you then?” Dick asks and drags his nails along his chin and cheek to imply what he means. 

Mal, Marshall, Buck and Mar instantly get the joke, Laurent and Jitterbug need another second before they too laugh. Aiden and Topper either don’t find his insult funny or they don’t get it.

“What are you talking about?” Knuckles asks with a frown, eyeing his laughing friends uncertainly.

“Your beard, turdface!” Buck sniggers. “Makes you look like a bum.”

“It’s a fashion statement,” Knuckles protests with a scowl.

“Yes,” Marlon agrees. “You’re stating that you’re too lazy to care for personal hygiene.”

It’s a highly unfair remark. Dick might hate Knuckles Bolton, but Knuckles tends his beard meticulously, trimming it and grooming himself to perfection. Still, Dick smirks and says, “Oh, do be kind, Mar. He’s expressing his personality,” with an inflection that implies it’s a reference to Marlon’s statement. Knuckles snorts a laugh, raises his glass to salute Dick and gives him a surreptitious dark look over the rim when he drinks.

Later, he corners Dick in the restroom. Dick’s pulse jumps when Knuckles blocks the door, and he backs up when Knuckles approaches. Dick’s back hits the wall. Knuckles puts a hand on the wall next to Dick’s head and the other in his pocket, leaning nonchalantly. Dick growls a warning, but Knuckles shakes his head. “Not here to hurt you. Look, the beard? I can shave it. But you?” he says. “You think I was saying those things just to be mean?”

“Isn’t that a trademark for you Boltons?” Dick remarks dryly to hide his fear.

Knuckles chuckles. “You don’t survive in the Boltons if you’re not mean. But I wasn’t lying, Ghost Boy. As an adult, our ways of bonding change. Just getting yourself marked up won’t be enough. You’re gonna have to have sex. And you? With your condition? You’re gonna have to become the grandmaster of fucking or your body will give up. How’re you gonna get laid? I’m willing to bet that your scent, if you had one, would be prosperous. You’re tough as nails and resourceful. You’re doing well for yourself. But you don’t have a scent. So how are you going to convince Os to sleep with you? I’m not being mean, I’m being real with you. The others think they’re doing you a favour by using kitty gloves, but they’re wrong. The moment you present, the sand in your hourglass starts running out.” 

Dick wants to retort with some smart remark, but he comes up blank. He’s dry-mouthed and terrified that Bolton is right.

Bolton pushes himself away from the wall and taps his temple. “Think about it,” he says before he turns and leaves.

* * *

Dick hasn’t had this much to drink since that first night here when he was hiding from the lemon-eyed Snatcher. Anytime his glass is empty he reaches for someone else's. It doesn’t matter. Aiden will get them new ones. Or Laurent. The room is spinning. He can’t focus his gaze. “Knuckles is right,” he slurs, lost in his own head. “I shouldn’t dream. But I do. Oh dear, I _do_.” 

Laurent’s beside him. Dick’s not sure when the seating got switched around. He’s leaned back staring at the dark ceiling when Laurent’s face pops into view. “Hey… Easy on the drinks. You’re gonna miss your concert if you don’t stop drinking now.”

“What’s the point if I’m gonna die anyway?”

“I’m not letting you die,” Marlon states with finality. Dick can’t see him but he’s closer than before.

“It’s a good dream,” Dick goes on. “I was going to mate Mal. ...Mal says she doesn’t want to wander, but it’s not true. She loves her pack but she wants to leave. She has wanderlust. It’s Laurent― It’s you she doesn’t want to leave,” he rambles at the face in his view. “She loves you, but she knows she’ll have urges she doesn’t want to have when you don’t find each other stinky anymore. So I had it all figured out. I’d mate her and you’d join our pack, the Red Romans. We’d just need one more Omega to be Main. That way you wouldn’t feel any extra compulsion to do dirty things with each other, and I could keep you under the threat of violence if you touched my mate. It would have been perfect. You’re not cut out for the Hale lifestyle anyway. I’d provide for all of us by legal means so you wouldn’t have to think of doing any violence that isn’t defensive. You’d be happy too. You could even be a domestic, if you wanted. I’d provide for you.”

"You… you were planning to provide for me?" Laurent asks, eyes wide with a sense of wonder.

"Naturally, dear. I was planning to provide for Mar too. I figured that Aiden could help provide for us as well since he's in college and he’ll be able to get a well-paying job like me. That was before I knew they’re Williamses. I'm afraid it might be too hard to pry them loose now, as it is. Which begs the question…" Dick sits up straight and searches for Marlon. His sight is blurry and it takes too long to find him considering he's sitting right next to Laurent. "Mar, why haven't you made Laurent part of your pack? He's a lot better suited to work at your company than he is to be a Hale grunt."

"I haven't thought about it." That’s Marlon in a nutshell. He can see all these complex patterns and far-reaching consequences of an action, but he often misses what’s right in front of him.

Dick haphazardly wags an admonishing finger at him. "Then you should. You can continue Siderunning the Hales like you’re doing now, but, as part of your pack, Laurent could say no to the jobs that tie his belly in knots. I assume you're unhappy in your pack since you're working for the Hales, but you'd feel a lot more content with your best friend in your pack. And take Mal too. Those two shouldn't be separated, only prevented from making kitlings. She's a warrior at heart so she'll be a good fit, if what I've heard about the Williams pack is true. And in a pack as big as yours there ought to be another Alpha willing to mate her."

Marlon looks and smells excited. "I’ll see what I can do about it," he agrees.

"Hah! Dicky’s just saying that so he can join your pack too when he gets mated to Mal," Knuckles says.

Dick growls then rolls his eyes. "Since you’ve already announced that I’m going to die when I present, what does it matter? The least I can do is make sure that the people I love are taken care of after I'm gone," he snipes.

"Pardon me, Richard, but I'm curious," Aiden says. "What job is it you think you could get that would enable you to earn as much as me?"

Dick scowls in the general direction of the voice and squints until he finds two red glowing orbs in the blur. It’s funny. Tonight is the first time he’s seen Aiden flare even though he does it all the time. Somehow Dick’s just missed it before. "I said I can earn as much or more than someone with a college degree. Not as much as a damned Williams." He tips backwards to stare at the ceiling again.

"Yes, but doing what? When we met you, you'd barely eaten and you had nothing."

"I have something now I didn't have before," Dick directs his answer to the spinning ceiling. "Bonds. Before I had bonds, people wouldn’t do any kind of long term business with me because they thought I’d die before they could reap the benefit. Now, people smell that I'm not alone and suddenly they're willing to make a deal with me where the payoff might lie months out. So I’ve branched out into an area where there's a lot of money to be made. Taxes." Not long ago, Dick had found part of a brochure that contained instructions for determining tax deductions. He’d read it and realised there was money to be made. Taking a chance, he’d gone into a shoemaker not far from where he lives with a proposition. In exchange for a new pair of fitted boots, he’d save the shoemaker money by doing his taxes. The shoemaker had thought long and hard before agreeing, but finally, the friendship bonds to the Hales tipped the balance. He’d sat down with the shoemaker that evening and gone over the finances to see what deductions could be made. Turns out, there were quite a lot of them. Math isn’t Dick’s strongest suit, but luckily the shoemaker had no problem with calculating percentages and showing Dick how to do it. All Dick had to do was tell him which deductions to make. Dick now owns the best pair of shoes he’s ever had, custom made for him. Bolstered, he’d gone to several other businesses to make them offers, this time for a small fee upfront and 40% of what they saved once the tax deductions were accepted. Two more businesses had taken his offer. Others wanted to see the results before they agreed. 

After all these years of helping refugees fill in forms and applications, Dick understands legalese just fine. All he needs to do now is learn more about tax deductions (he currently only has half a brochure, after all) and get better at math. Oh, and he needs to create a contract for his clients to sign. As long as he works in the Hale territory he’s certain they would help him collect if a client refused to pay, but if he expands outside their territory he needs a legally binding document so he can go to the police or the courts if he gets scammed. If everything goes according to plan, then he’s on track to be a wealthy man.

"You're a tax collector?"

Dick sputters indignantly and sits up too quickly. He grabs the table to steady himself, spots Aiden's drink and snags it. Laurent tries to take it from his hands, but Dick fends him off long enough to drain half the glass. "The heck would I work for the bad guys for?" he says scowling. He falls back in his seat to stare at the ceiling again. It’s spinning too fast so he closes his eyes. He hears someone say his name and ask him something, but the darkness beckons him.

Someone shakes him. 

“ _Richard. Richard, wake up. Dick, you’re going to miss your concert._ ”

He’s shaken again. Voices. They’re talking but not to him. They sound distant.

It’s cold around his ears and it feels nice, but his chest and belly are warm. Jolts make him a bit nauseous. There’s the most wonderful scent filling his nostrils. His skin itches and he’s burning up from a fever. His nose is pressed against something warm. He opens his mouth to taste it, and it tastes better than anything else he’s ever tried. He keeps moving his tongue back and forth to milk for more of that taste. Voices again. Too distant to be bothered with. “Buck… Buck could be the Main…” he mumbles to himself.

“Aside from Mal outranking her by miles, Buck wandered from Chicago and fell in love with the Cavellis as a pack. She’s not likely to leave them,” someone answers him very close by. So close he can feel the voice against his tongue. Disoriented, he opens his eyes and blinks against the painfully harsh light of the bleak sunrise. The warmth against his chest and belly comes from the person carrying him, the jolts are his steps, the cold biting his ears and face is the wind. The taste is the secretion leaking from the gland by his carrier’s ear. “Besides, finding a Main won’t be a problem. It’s finding a Patriarch,” his carrier adds.

Dick scowls. He’s completely wasted. It takes him far too long to figure out who is carrying him even with the gorgeous scent and the red flare. It’s Aiden. “You don’t think I could be a good leader? Screw you. I will be great,” Dick slurs unintelligibly.

“I don’t doubt you will, sweetheart, you’d just be the Main, not the Patriarch.”

Aiden’s making no sense. Dick blinks dumbly at him, then burrows his face back by Aiden’s throat. “You’re warm…” he states drowsily.

“Yes, well, _somebody_ triggered my Rut, so thanks for that,” Aiden answers snippily. Dick sniggers and goes on sucking on Aiden’s throat where the gland is now leaking profusely, providing a steady flow of that wonderful taste. “Damn it, sweetheart, would you stop? I can’t do anything with you when you’re this drunk,” Aiden grits out.

Dick leans away to look Aiden in the face. Aiden stumbles a bit from the hasty movement but keeps a steady grip around Dick, one hand under his ass and the other around his back. Dick squints with one eye then the other, trying to get his vision to focus. Aiden swims into view, cheeks flushed and skin glossy from secretion. Dick’s drowning in his enchanting, hypnotic blood-red flare. He’s so, so beautiful. Butterflies suddenly go rampant in Dick’s belly. “No,” he says and smushes himself back in position.

“Damn it,” Aiden swears again.

“Hey, Aid! How the heck are you horny when you’re carrying a Juvie who threw up on you? You weren’t interested at all in those two Os who were all over you before we left,” someone calls from up ahead. Dick thinks it’s Topper.

“Yeah. One of them must have been a good match to boot, since she triggered your Rut.” That’s Bolton’s voice. “Yet you chose to leave with the shrimpy little kit who can’t hold his fun-juice.”

“I hate her,” Dick mumbles without thought, resting his chin on Aiden’s broad shoulder grumpily. He doesn’t know why he suddenly feels a strong dislike for the O they’re speaking of, but she can’t have his Aiden. He tightens his previously lax grip around Aiden.

Aiden turns his head slightly to whisper, “There is no her, Richard. It’s you,” before looking ahead again and hollering, “I’m not abandoning a friend to have sex.”

Dick frowns in confusion. What does that even mean? Then he registers another detail of what Topper just said. “I threw up on you?”

Aiden chuckles. “Sure did. It’s okay. Only on my shoes and lower pant legs.”

“Lovely. That’s not at all embarrassing,” Dick mutters sarcastically.

“We’ve all been there, sweetheart.”

Dick smirks and closes his eyes to the cobbled road behind them. “At least it doesn’t smell. That’s pretty handy about me. I’m pretty handy.”

Aiden chuckles again, a wonderful rumble that Dick feels in his whole body. “True,” he agrees.

“I think I’ve wet myself,” Dick says. He can feel that his pants are wet. He’s not sure. There’s a big (or small) memory gap. He might just have sat in a puddle for all he knows. But it feels warm and wet in his pants. Almost a bit sticky.

“You’re wet alright,” Aiden mutters with a frustrated edge to his voice and rubs his thumb back and forth over Dick’s anus. Even with the rough cloth of his pants between them, it sends jolts of unexpected pleasure through his body. He gasps, and feels that ticklish sensation in his crotch that means he’s getting an erection. For months now his penis has become ultra-sensitive. He gets erections. He’s had them before, growing up, but then they never seemed to have a cause, and when touched it wasn’t a pleasurable sensation. Nowadays, his dick reacts sometimes when he's touched in certain places. It feels good. He still doesn't have a knot, though, so he knows he hasn't presented. But maybe it's a sign he's in the process of presenting? He gasps again and Aiden stills his thumb. "Why'd you have to drink so much, sweetheart?" Aiden complains.

Dick doesn't know the answer. He just wanted to get rid of the knot of fear Bolton had caused with his words. “I don’t feel so well.” 

"You need to throw up again? Tell me, so I don't have to get it on me this time."

"No. ... I've got a fever."

"Darling, it's not a fever―"

"Yes it is," Dick growls, interrupting Aiden. "You don't think I know my own body?"

"I used to think that, but now I'm not so sure anymore."

Dick grunts in annoyance and opens his eyes long enough to realise the world is spinning too fast again. He closes his eyes and turns his head to lick at Aiden's throat. He feels goosebumps under his tongue.

"Go on," Aiden says voice low and rough. "Siphon me."

Dick doesn't know what he's talking about, but his fever is getting worse. Maybe he's allergic to Aiden. These odd fevers do have a tendency to come on when they've been in close contact. Just in case, he stops licking. But he wants to go on. If he just wasn't so drunk maybe thinking would be easier.

Aiden turns his head and nuzzles him. Dick purrs. He likes it anytime Aiden touches him. Aiden always touches him differently than the rest. They put a guiding hand between his shoulder blades, Aiden in the small of his back. They nuzzle him in the crook of the neck, Aiden by the gland behind his ears. When they dance, Aiden will slot a leg between Dick’s, put a hand on his ass and roll his hips in a grinding motion until Dick’s whole body is tickling with a strange need for something he doesn’t understand and doesn’t know how to ask for. None of the others ever do that. Or like now, when Aiden opens his mouth and sucks on his gland, warm, wet tongue teasing it until Dick has to bite his lip not to keen loudly. Dick pulls back to look Aiden in the eye, wanting _something_ , something more, that he doesn’t understand except his whole body’s screaming for it. Aiden’s panting slightly, rosy-cheeked and fever-eyed. He smells strongly of what Dick knows is arousal. He wonders what it feels like to be aroused. For a while, they’re just looking at each other. 

“Darn it, Richard, why’d you have to drink so darn much?” Aiden husks with frustration. “You can’t say yes if you’re too drunk to understand what’s going on.” He looks over Dick’s shoulder at their friends walking ahead of them. He starts smelling of anxiety and excitement and a little bit of fear as he watches them with guarded eyes and bites his lip.

“ _Mrrt?_ ” Dick asks.

Aiden looks back at Dick and, after one last guarded look at their friends, tilts his head to kiss Dick. 

Dick’s parents used to kiss him sometimes. Small pecks on the mouth that were brief, dry, and full of fake affection. This is _nothing_ like that. Dick’s body’s going haywire. His breath stutters and his heart beats a staccato rhythm. His belly does swooping flip-flops as if he’s falling, but it’s paired with a strange elation rather than the fear a fall would induce. Aiden presses his lips to Dick’s, soft and determined, parting his lips, nudging with his tongue until Dick opens his mouth to let him in. It’s wet and weird and exactly what his body wants. It soothes the foreign greed he’s feeling and enhances it at the same time.

“The hell are you doing, Aid?!” Knuckles yells.

Aiden pulls back his face as if burned. “I gave him a kiss on the nose!” he yells back.

"Oh dear, I need to give you anatomy lessons if you think that," Dick mumbles.

"You're the one needing lessons, sweetheart. Don't tell Knuckles what we just did. Or better yet, siphon me _right now_ ," Aiden whispers.

The next second Knuckles is walking beside them with eyes narrowed in suspicion at Aiden. "The hell that was a kiss on the nose," he accuses. "I know you're sweet on the kit, but if you go pawing him to get off just because you can't smell him? I'll show you how I earned my nickname. Don't think I won't, Williams."

"Relax. I haven't done anything inappropriate. Besides, if I had, do you really think he would be purring like he is?"

"As drunk as he is? Maybe. I saw what I saw, Williams." Knuckles is angry. His scent stings of it and his voice is tight with restraint.

"You're drunk, Knuckles. Go home," Aiden answers, anger awakening in response to the (true) accusations. Dick can smell Aiden’s faint anxiety underneath.

"What are you two posturing about?" Marlon asks, popping into view as he falls back to walk between the two.

"Your big brother kissed our kit," Knuckles answers.

" _On. The. Nose_ ," Aiden lies, voice tight.

"The hell you did. That was a damn Prog kiss."

"Aiden doesn't kiss on the mouth," Marlon states. "But I'll take Richard so you don't have to argue."

"No, I can carry him," Aiden protests, then more heatedly, "Let go, I'll carry him," when Marlon gets an arm around Dick's midriff and pulls. Aiden tries to hold on, but then Knuckles is there helping Mar and Aiden lets go. Dick lets himself be transferred with a small noise of disappointment. But Mar smells almost as good as Aiden and he's purring a lulling all-is-well. Dick’s out like a light within moments of Marlon taking him…

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all of y'all who give me feedback and reactions to my writing. I know I should answer more of your comments, and I want to too, but I get stuck in a vicious cycle of "I'm just going to finish writing this thing, and then I'll get to it", only to never ever finish writing. ^^' I appreciate all of you readers, whether you comment or not. Ever so often there will pop up a comment like "I've been following you for years and I've read [insert fic name] at least five times, but this is the first time I comment..." and those make me super happy. Because in my mind, I've got like, five or ten readers and that's it. (And I'm super happy about you 5-10 regular readers. You're the main reason the stories keep coming.) I don't know you're out there enjoying and engaging in my stories when you don't tell me. I write what I want to read and for my own enjoyment, but I publish because I want to flail happily with others about it. It's like I'm a kid with a bunch of toys bringing the toys to the playground to play with others instead of staying at home playing by myself. I never take direct requests or prompts, but you should know that the comments left has sometimes inspired new scenes and changed the plot in other directions. Fanfiction, to me, is an interactive media, and I really love you for interacting with me. 
> 
> If there is someone out there who has wanted to talk to me but don't feel comfortable commenting in public, you can find my Tumblr and email in my profile. :)
> 
> Why this little "outburst"? A Tumblr-post about how it's self-entitled and rude of writers to ask for comments ticked me the hell off. XD You don't want to comment? Don't. But I'll still be asking for it because it has such a great impact on my inspiration and happiness when I know I'm not the only one liking what I write.
> 
> Until next time, y'all be safe, happy, and may luck follow you around. ;)


	8. A Peek Behind the Mask

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick wakes up with the worst hangover of his life. Even worse, he isn't alone, and his company is Knuckles Bolton.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter summarized in a gif:  
> 
> 
> As usual, a huge thank you to my betas Lisa and Melina! I don't know what I'd do without you. <3<3<3
> 
> And thank all of you for the love and support y'all showered me with after my little rant. ^^'
> 
> Oh, and chapter warning: Puke.

* * *

When Dick wakes up he's dying. His brain is suddenly three sizes too large for his skull and is trying to pound its way through his eyes which he refuses to open for fear of what might happen. He’s terribly nauseous and feeling miserable. He whimpers.

"That's what happens when you drink enough for four grown men, Ghost Boy."

Dick lifts his head and squints into the half-light. He's in his nest at home. He's turned the bed on its side to box in the mattress on the floor, then, on top of the mattress, he’s piled all the blankets and pillows he could get his hands on, creating a separate bedroom of a sort and preventing any stray sparks from the stove from reaching the fabric. He's tucked in under a blanket and propped on his side with pillows. Knuckles sits beside him with his back leaned against the wall on top of all the blankets. He's got a bucket between his legs, and another one beside him that Dick recognises as his water bucket.

Knuckles is looking at him with an amused smirk that dimples one of his cheeks. He's shaved his beard off and he's shirtless. "Serves you right for getting that drunk. I should box some sense into you so you don't do it again, but, for now, missing the concert will have to be punishment enough."

Dick whimpers again. Right now the concert is the furthest thing from his mind. "I don't feel so well."

"Obviously. It's called alcohol poisoning, dickhead. You have no drinking sense. How did you even survive getting blackout drunk before you met us?"

"I had never tried alcohol before I met you," Dick says weakly. He wishes Bolton would just shut up. Every sound cuts painfully into his head.

Knuckles laughs. "Really? That explains it. In the future, when we tell you you've had enough, stop drinking."

Dick doesn't answer. Instead, he tries to sit up. His body doesn't like that. His head spins and his stomach heaves. Dick covers his mouth with his hand trying not to throw up. Knuckles grips him with a hand around his neck and pulls him to his lap so his head is positioned over the bucket between Knuckles thighs.

"Get it out," Knuckles says.

Trying to hold back is harder than letting go so Dick heaves. It's mostly bile, but his belly keeps turning until he wants to cry. Knuckles pats his back, his hand cold against Dick's overheated skin. When Dick stops throwing up, Knuckles reaches into the water bucket beside him and plucks out a dripping cup. He holds it to Dick's mouth and tips it gently, ordering Dick to “Gargle. Spit.” Dick obeys, realising how parched he is when he gets the water in his mouth. When he’s rinsed his mouth Knuckles gives him more water, to drink this time. Dick’s barely swallowed before he has to throw up again. Knuckles sighs with half an eye-roll but patiently repeats the process. This time Dick gets to keep the water he’s served.

“Drink more. Alcohol dehydrates you,” Knuckles says and feeds him another cup of water.

“It does? I didn’t know that,” Dick says weakly. He drinks another cup then tries to sit up properly. He has to close his eyes and curl in on himself, cradling his head that pounds even worse when he moves.

“It does. Wait here and don’t throw up. I’ll go get rid of this,” Knuckles says and gets up. Dick feels him move to round the upturned bed-wall but feels too sorry for himself to pay much attention. He hears the window open and Knuckles climb out. Dick smells strongly of Knuckles and somewhat less of the Hales and Williamses. He wonders how he came to smell so strongly of Bolton. He wonders what Bolton is doing here. He wonders how he got home.

When he hears Bolton come back in he says, "I don't remember how I got home."

"No surprise there. You passed out while Mar carried you." Knuckles snorts. "Not that you'll hear Mar complaining. Give him someone completely dependent or incapacitated, and he's a happy camper. Guy's a natural-born caretaker." Knuckles moves around the small room. Dick hears him light a fire, and then the squeak of the chimney pipe opening. "He had to put you down when we got here. Aiden wanted someone to climb up to open the door from the inside so he could carry you up the stairs. He claimed to be afraid they'd drop you if they climbed the drainpipe with you. While they were arguing, you looked around like a confused owl, said, 'I live here' and scuttled up the drainpipe in three seconds flat. Those idiots were so intent on arguing that they didn't notice you going up. If I hadn't followed you, you'd be dead by now."

"I fell?"

"No. You’re a damned monkey." Knuckles comes back and sits down. He removes Dick's hands from his head only to replace them with a cool, wet piece of cloth that's 10 times more soothing than hands. "You tried to unlock your window, failed miserably at fitting the key in the lock, and decided to go to sleep, _on your back_ , on the roof. You threw up after you passed out, and, if I hadn't been there to turn you over, you'd have drowned in your own vomit and been dead by the time the others got up to you."

"That's mortifying.” Dick’s does a mental double-take. “Hold on… You climbed?"

Knuckles huffs. "Yeah, I can climb."

"Boltons climb with all the skill of manatees," Dick states.

Knuckles laughs. "I'd be offended if it wasn't true. But Laurent's been my best friend since I was a kit. You can’t be friends with a Hale without learning how to climb."

"Why did you climb after me?"

"You think I'd leave you alone after what Aiden did yesterday? Hell no. I saw him shove his tongue in your mouth. We were all drunk, but I know what I saw. He claimed he kissed you on the nose, but you don't tilt your head that way to boop someone on the nose. Nor does it take that long. I know he's been sweet on you since the first meeting, but he should wait until you present. That we can't smell you is no excuse."

Knuckles is so angry Dick almost sneezes. He manages to fight off the sneeze in fear that a sneeze would make his eyes pop right out of his eyes due to the pounding pressure inside his skull. 

"I don't like how he's been touching you. He's always touching you just shy of inappropriately," Knuckles adds.

"I like it when he touches me."

"Everyone likes it when Golden Boy touches them. _I_ like when he touches me. You like it when everyone touches you, except. Me."

The statement is startling. Either Dick's a lot worse at hiding his aversion than he thought, or Bolton’s a lot more perceptive than Dick gives him credit for. "I’m afraid you’ll hurt me."

"You don't think that if I wanted to hurt you, I'd have hunted you down after you killed my twin brother?"

A bolt of fear strikes Dick who involuntarily tenses up. “I didn’t―”

“You don’t think I know? I’m dumb, but not _that_ dumb.” Knuckles removes the wet cloth from Dick’s head to dip it in the water again, then puts it back on Dick’s head, this time without covering his eyes. He neither smells nor looks particularly hostile, but Dick’s terrified and watches him guardedly. “Marty was found stabbed in the back several times, not a trace of any attacker except half a footprint at head height on the wall. The others didn’t see that footprint since they never thought to check the damn walls. Not a trace, not a scent to track, not a single damn clue. But I knew it was you. The small, scentless ghost bouncing up the walls in a way even a Hale would envy. Spent a damn year looking over my shoulder, thinking I was next. Can I smoke in here? Or do I have to go outside? We couldn’t find an ashtray or cigarettes in here so we’ve been smoking outside. But you’re awake now, so I can ask.”

“Indoors is fine.” Dick thinks Knuckles quickly changed the subject was because he’s uncomfortable talking about his brother’s death with the guy he (rightly) thinks is his brother’s killer.

Knuckles gets up again. When he comes back, he’s got a small pot in his hand. He sits down on his previous spot and takes a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of his pocket. “You want one?” he asks. When Dick doesn’t answer, he puts two cigarettes in his mouth and lights them both, then hands one over.

Dick takes it and inhales a long draft of smoke. As the nicotine hits, it’s making him both more nauseous and less bothered by it. He feels a bit calmer, but not much. “If you…” he thinks about his words carefully. “If you think I murdered your brother…” he begins.

“Cut the crap, Ghost Boy, I know it was you. Why am I not seeking vengeance? Aside from you being part of our rat pack now? That might not mean anything to you since you’re not raised a Packrunner, but we have pack wars all the time. It’s part of our culture and primitive instincts to ally with or merge packs with former enemies. But that’s not the real reason.” Knuckles takes a drag on his cigarette and looks at the ceiling. He blows the smoke out slowly. “I don’t know if you know it, but our pack god, the Bolton pack god, is Maluk.”

“Isn’t he a demon?”

Knuckles shakes his head. “No. He’s a god of the underworld. He’s got demons to serve him, but he isn’t one himself. He wants his followers to be big, fierce and strong. He revels in fear, and if his followers are feared, he rewards them with riches and prosperity. When I was a kit, there was a stray dog living near us. He was big, violent and smart. Had to be, to survive around here. Anybody dumb enough to hunt him paid dearly for it. My primaries used to point him out to me and tell me that he represented the ideal. That individuals like him, like us, ruled the world. He was what they wanted Martijn and me to be like. I’d watch him from a window sometimes. Remember that big shed between the Arch and our building?”

Dick nods, taking another drag of his cigarette, reminding himself that primaries are what Packrunners call the people responsible for raising them.

Knuckles goes on. “That dog used to push crates against the shed, jump up on them to reach the shed roof, then from there he’d jump up to the roof of the building next to ours. Remember those small brown birds that nested under the eaves? Don’t know what they’re called. Small, brown things. Sparrows? Larks? Finches? You know what they’re called?”

“Dinner,” Dick suggests.

Knuckles lets out a surprised laugh and grins at Dick. “I’ll meet you halfway and call them snacks, but yeah. That’s them. So the dog used to raid the nests and the tiny birds didn’t stand a chance. He’d eat his belly full then jump back down the way he came. He’d even push the crate back where he found it. Wicked smart. So they told me to be like him. It’s a dog eat dog world where the biggest and the meanest always prevail. But one day, I was watching him do his thing and one of those tiny damned birds wasn’t having it. Usually, if a bird was dumb enough to come close enough he’d snap it straight out of the air. But this time, this tiny bird kept coming at him from his dead angle, going for his eyes. She had to have gotten in a good hit, because the dog yelped and jerked his head away. She kept coming at him, defending her nest. He was already by the edge of the roof, and when he jerked his head away again, he misstepped and fell off. Didn’t survive the fall.” Knuckles taps ashes from his cig and holds out the pot so Dick can do the same. “That made one hell of an impression on me. I found it… poetic, I guess? It was justice served by the victim, and I respected that. That dog had raided those birds’ nests hundred of times, and all it took to end him was one angry bird who wouldn’t back down. The dog must have weighed 130 pounds or more, and the bird a few ounces. I think about it often.”

Dick waits. He’s not sure where this is going.

“How much do you know about Maluk?” Knuckles asks.

“Not much. He’s not a common god.”

“For good reason. He requires human sacrifice. You kill someone, you should offer your victim to him. But there’s a catch. He doesn’t like it if the offering is innocent. It has to be a just kill. Killed in combat or someone who poses a real threat to you or your pack. If Maluk gets an innocent offering, he gets mad and sends demons and ghosts to punish you. Which is why many in our pack didn’t believe you were real. They’d spot a pair of glowing red eyes in the darkness, looking in through our windows, and they’d tell us not to go out that night or the demon would get us. They’d see boy-shaped movement in the corner of their eyes, but when they looked there was no one there and no scent to indicate anyone had been there. They thought you were a real ghost and they feared you. A kit ghost can’t be anything but innocent, right?” Knuckles suddenly laughs again. "Oh, man, you should see your face right now!"

"I find it hard to believe that your pack feared me, considering what you did to me when you caught me. But I guess I should be grateful. You taught me never to fight back against Packrunners, so thanks for that," Dick says sarcastically.

Knuckles looks away sucking on his cigarette. "I thought we'd killed you that first time… I doubt it makes any difference to you, but Martijn was the one to sound the distress call. If it was up to me, we would have let you go. If two big Juvies can't subdue a tiny kit, then you're not prey. But your vehement defense of that loaf of bread caught Martijn wholly unprepared. He took it personal."

"And you didn't?" Dick doesn't believe him.

"We had bread at home. I didn't see the point of hunting you in the first place. We were supposed to practice hunting, sure, but we were also meant to think tactically. Is the payoff worth the effort? Stuff like that. I may be dumb, but even I can figure out that someone that small, fast, and bouncy, who has so much less than us, isn't worth it. I preferred to practice taking down adults, people who were actual threats and perhaps would yield a couple of dollars in reward. But Marty was a sadist. He liked to torment the weak. He couldn't accept that you were a weasel, not a mouse."

Dick gives him a cold stare. The first time they'd caught him he'd fought like a fiend. They'd made the pack distress call, and suddenly Dick was fighting not only two big Juvies but also three adults. The last thing he remembers from that encounter is being pinned down with Knuckles straddling him, fist pulled back for a strike and someone saying 'End him.' He'd woken up black and blue, concussed, with a broken arm, possibly broken ribs, a broken nose, other injuries and a broken spirit. After that he always submitted if they or any other Packrunners caught him. But they had to catch him first.

"Yeah, I know. Doesn't change a thing for you. You're still the only one in our rat pack who knows from personal experience how I got my nickname." Knuckles chuckles and shakes his head. "I suggested to Marty we should keep you as a pet, but he wouldn't have it."

"A _pet_?"

"Yeah. We'd feed you decent meals three times a day, mark you up so nobody would steal you, and provide you with warm blankets when it was cold. In return, you would spy for us. Scout for more worthy targets and listen for info that would be valuable to our pack. You could be bait. And if anyone were dumb enough to mess with you, we would beat the crap out of them."

Dick frowns. "That sounds more like Siderunning to me."

"Yeah. Which is why Marty wouldn't have it. He didn't really grasp the responsibility required to keep a pet either."

It would have changed so much. Dick imagines getting fed and marked up on a daily basis. He might have developed another crush and started feeling pride in being called a pet if it had played out that way. He'd have been as loyal as could be if they treated him well, as long as they didn't try to lock him up. He can't imagine Knuckles suggesting such a thing. Knuckles is big, dumb, and mean. But maybe he isn't as dumb as he seems?

"You got some spunk. It took me off guard when you threatened me as soon as Mar dumped you at our table," Knuckles says and squishes his cig in the pot, then holds it out to Dick.

"Threaten you?"

"I can read between the lines, you know? Reminding me of my brother's fate then pointing out I'd be defenseless against a stealth attack? Yeah, I picked up on the threat. But now I've gotten to know you better. I know that while you're a dickhead, you're not vindictive. I'm thinking that you offed Marty in self-defence."

"I'm not admitting to murder, but I've never killed anyone for any reason other than self-defence." Dick squishes his cigarette and Knuckles puts the makeshift ashtray away. It's not like Dick couldn't commit murder for other reasons. He just saw it as a last resort. Martijn had spotted him and then gone nosing around too close to Dick's new nest. One he would’ve been able to access. So Dick had taken preemptive measures. Dick looks down at his lap, looking at his flaccid penis and sweat-wet thighs. It's an odd sight for him. It takes him several seconds to figure out why. He jumps back with a panicked yelp, startling Knuckles who flares and bounces up confusedly, looking ready to fight whatever made Dick backpedal until he smacked into the wall.

“I’m naked!” Dick pulls the wet cloth from his head to cover his penis. It’s not enough so he drops it and quickly crouches down to yank a blanket from the nest that he hugs to his chest.

Knuckles eyebrows climb upward in surprise, then he starts to laugh. He laughs until he wheezes and laughs even harder when Dick pelts in an effort to cover up more. “You know we still see you as naked when you’re pelted, Dicky,” he wheezes while laughing.

"It's not funny! Why am I naked?!"

Knuckles takes another moment to collect himself. “You puked all over yourself, dumbass. We undressed you, and Mal took your clothes and my shirt to have them washed. You’ll get them back when they’re dry.”

The headache is seriously interfering with Dick’s ability to think beyond the panic over being naked in front of his friends. Of being naked, period.

“Careful there, Ghost Boy. Your Conservative is showing,” Knuckles teases with an amused glint in his eyes and a smirk on his lips.

Dick needs to refocus. Talk about something else so he can calm down and think rationally. He asks the first thing that comes to mind. “Why do I smell so strongly of you?”

The smirk freezes on Bolton’s face for a second before his gaze turns cold and his scent angry. He comes at Dick in a rush. Dick presses himself against the wall licking his lips in submission expecting a hit, but Knuckles only pins him against the wall with a forearm against Dick’s chest. “Listen up, you little jerk. Don’t you dare accuse me of the crap Aiden did. I would _never_ touch a Juvie that way,” he says, pointing a finger at Dick’s face. 

Dick’s desperately trying to puzzle it together. He hasn’t connected the dots Knuckles clearly connected. To him, it was just a matter of trying to understand the things that were strange and odd about his wakeup. Being naked. Smelling as strongly of Knuckles as he usually does of Mar after Marlon’s cuddled him. “Most of yesterday is a black spot in my memory. I wasn’t accusing you of anything, I just want to know.”

Knuckles lets out a heavy breath through his nose, scowling at Dick but letting up the pressure of his arm somewhat. "Your question implied that you thought I'd been bad-touching you. Try telling the others I did, and I swear I'll beat you to a pulp."

Dick hunkers down as much as Knuckles' arm will let him and licks his lips, looking down and to the side. "I won't. I promise."

"Aiden's sweet on you. I've never seen him obsess over anyone like he does with you. It happens sometimes. Especially when people are around the same age but present at different times. Normally they don't feel sexual urges towards the unpresented. Normally. Hell, I was still sweet on Mal after I presented, but I just wanted to be close to her. I didn't even entertain thoughts of what we might do when she presented. But yesterday Aiden crossed a line that should have been unthinkable. He didn't kiss you on the nose."

"No."

"He kissed you with his tongue. That's a sexual act."

"I don't remember that," Dick lies.

" _Sure_ , you don't. I know what I saw." Knuckles pauses. "Hey, look at me. _Look at me_." When Dick doesn't immediately obey Knuckles grabs Dick's chin and forces him to face Knuckles. "Did you present?" he asks seriously.

"No."

"Are you sure? Did you tell Aiden, or do anything that would make him believe you've presented?"

"I… don't know?"

"It's important, Richard. It changes the situation. Aiden was drunk too. After I announced that finally presenting would probably kill you, both of you began a competition to see who could burn the most brain cells. You were both freaked out. So if Aiden has reason to suspect you’ve already presented, he’s still an asshole for perving on someone barely conscious, but his actions would make sense. I like Aiden. He’s a friend, and I don’t _want_ him to be a kit molester. But I know what I saw no matter what he and the others claim.”

Knuckles has repeated ‘I know what I saw’ how many times now? Dick once lived close to a couple where the Alpha constantly claimed that the O’s perception was wrong, making her doubt her memory and sanity. Anytime she stood up for herself he’d counter with ‘I never said that’, ‘You’re paranoid’, ‘No, you had the missing item last’, and so on. Dick had witnessed enough to know that the Alpha was lying, redirecting blame, and it made Dick nauseous to see the O lose confidence and believe the lies. Dick’s knowledge of sex is limited. He knows that sex between a minor and adult is a bad, bad thing that’s supposedly next to impossible. He doesn’t want Knuckles to doubt his own mind when he knows the truth, but admitting the truth now would harm Aiden. “Aiden didn’t do anything to me I didn’t enjoy, as far as I can remember.” It’s the best Dick can give him.

“Are you sure you haven’t presented?” Knuckles repeats. “If you have, you need to tell us. Your life may depend on it. We can’t smell it, remember?”

Dick bites his lip. “I don’t think I’ve presented. I don’t have a knot yet. Is it possible to have a knot so small it doesn’t show?”

“A knot only forms when you have an erection and you’re getting close to orgasm.”

“I get erections sometimes. Once when I fondled it, it felt really good and liquid spurted out of it. It didn’t look like pee. Is that an orgasm?” Dick feels dumb for asking. He didn’t use to pay attention to people having sex. His curiosity is a more recent development. But he knows that Alphas have a knot that supposedly keeps them from pulling out after an orgasm until their erection goes down. Dick hasn’t seen a knot. He knows semen comes out of the penis when you orgasm, and he knows what semen smells like. He’s not sure _why_ semen comes out of a penis, though.

“It is. No swelling at the base of your dick when that happened?”

Dick shakes his head.

Knuckles looks concerned, scanning Dick’s gaze for veracity. He leans their foreheads together. “These fevers you’ve been having. They’re coming awfully often.”

“I… I think it’s the sweet sea sickness catching up to me. It terrifies me,” Dick admits.

“Could be. You’ve got other symptoms? Great fatigue? Blinding pain that feels like it’s coming from your bones? Nosebleeds?”

Dick thinks about how often he seems to wet himself without noticing until his pants are already wet. But it’s too mortifying to tell Knuckles. Instead, he shakes his head.

“Then it’s not EB50 poisoning.” Bolton appears to be certain of that.

“So what is it?”

“Could be a lot of things. How long have you had these fevers?”

“Since around the time I met you at the Sanctuary.”

“You know… your fever could be Ruts, or Heats.”

“Women have Heats.”

“Wrong. Omegas have Heats. As unusual as it is, you could be an Omega. If that’s the case, it’s the best thing that could happen to you. Scentless or not, most Alphas will gladly sleep with you. As an Alpha you’d struggle. But as an O? You’d have a long life ahead of you even if you’re never cured of your scentlessness.”

“But I wouldn’t be able to mate Mal.”

Knuckles snorts, his lip pulling up in the corner to a lopsided smirk. “Your Conservative imprinting is showing again. Mateships aren’t the pinnacle of bonding. Packbonds are. Especially if you’re a Main. You and Mal could still be lifelong lovers and partners. You’d have to find another Alpha to be Patriarch if you’re serious about caring for Laurent too, but I don’t see that as a problem.”

Dick thinks hard. He’s rebelling the thought of being an O. He’s had a lifetime of thinking of himself as an Alpha-to-be. But… “You think I’m an Omega?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps? Perhaps you’re just allergic to alcohol or something.”

“Could you check, somehow?”

“You’re asking me to bad-touch you,” Knuckles states flatly. “You. Who can’t even stand to let me see you naked without hiding behind a blanket like a prude Conservative?”

Dick hesitates. First, he unpelts. Then he slowly lowers the blanket. It’s almost sending him into a panic again. His heart starts to race. He’s seen people in various states of undress. That’s not the problem. The problem, he thinks logically, occurred before he was six, when his parents would scold him and give him a cuff on the ear for nudity. They didn’t even undress fully when they washed in the sea. The problem, he thinks again, comes from the one time he’d tried to sleep naked after their death. His nest had been found and he had to flee without his clothes. It had left him with no option except to pelt to keep warm. Pelting in public is dangerous. More and more so each year. So on an instinctual level he’d learned that bad things happen when you’re naked, and his parents had taught him nobody but a mate should ever see you naked. He drops the blanket with an embarrassed huff, then has to fight the urge to cover up again right away.

“Breathe, Dicky, _breathe._ Conservatives cover up at all times. It minimizes bonding and sexualizes nudity,” Knuckles says. Dick looks up at him. He’s so close with their foreheads leaned together that his eyes look displaced by the movement. “That’s how they enhance the importance of that one mating bond and make it the pinnacle of what to strive for. We, on the other hand, are naked together often, since it helps create bonds. We sleep naked together. We’ve got glands all over. So bonds are reinforced by mere skin-to-skin proximity. Parent to kits, sibling to sibling, friend to friend. It’s not just about lovers.” Dick focuses on Bolton’s words like a lifeline, trying to stave off his panic. “You asked why you smell like me? We slept together. Aiden wanted to sleep beside you but I wouldn’t let him. So you slept tucked up to my bare chest. I marked you up too, to underline to Aiden that he wouldn’t get to touch you. Malicia spooned you. She was wearing clothes since she lay next to Laurent. Then Mar lay more or less on top of Laurent and Mal, and Aiden furthest away. You were so hot and so damn cuddly, I sweated like a pig, holding you. That’s why you smell of me.”

Dick takes a deep breath and relaxes further. He stands up straight. Knuckles takes a step away and puts his hands in his pockets. “Look, Richard. There are things I could do to test if you’re an O. But those are all things I’d do to an adult, and if you _haven’t_ presented…? It’s making me uncomfortable. I need to trust you to be completely honest and open with your every reaction, and I don’t. You keep too many secrets and hide your emotions too often. It’s better if you ask Laurent to do it. You’re more open with him,” Knuckles says.

“Okay. ...Do you mind if I go put some clothes on?”

Knuckles steps back and makes a sweeping go ahead gesture. Dick slinks past him and tries not to scurry to cover up. Walking at a normal pace makes him itchy but he doesn’t like the idea of his parents deciding what’s right for him to do. He’d much rather emulate the behaviour of the people he cares about. “Did the others sleep naked?” he asks with his back turned.

“Aside from Mal and me, yeah. I was only shirtless. You gonna throw a fit about it?”

“No. Just curious. The closest thing I’ve had to a pack was―”

“The cats. Yeah, I remember.”

Dick finds a clean shirt and underpants and puts them on. When he turns around he can’t see Knuckles who sat down behind the makeshift bed half-wall again. But he sees his shaving gear on the table. Knuckles must have used them to get rid of his beard. “You remember?”

“You had a perfect view into our master bedroom and common room, but I liked to sit on the roof where nobody in the pack ever came, which gave me a perfect view into your den. I often saw you sit curled together with the cats, reading with your flare as the only light source.”

Knuckles knows he can read. Then why had he acted like Dick couldn't, yesterday? "I guess I'm stupid. I came home one day with one surprise feast and five one-day meals waiting. I should have blocked the window and then the cat would have had no way to escape with her kittens. Instead, I saw her and went, 'Whelp. I guess I'm a dad now.'"

Knuckles chuckles. "You're stupid, alright, but not for wanting to have company. Sorry about the two that Marty killed," he adds.

Knuckles sounds genuinely apologetic. Dick hadn't known the reason the two kittens didn't come home, but he knew enough that going out to look for them would be futile. "That's alright. I guess all of them got blown up in the end."

"Nah. I saw at least three of them afterwards."

Dick chirps, happily surprised. Knuckles chuckles. It's followed by a high-frequency purr, almost out of the human hearing range. Dick wonders why Knuckles whispers his contentment.

“Since you know I can read, it’s ABC, not ABD,” Dick remarks when he comes back.

Knuckles chuckles again. “I know that. But I was quoting you.”

Dick gives him a dubious look and sits down beside him, leaning against the wall.

“I suppose you can’t remember it. You bumped into me when you were this big,” Knuckles says and holds his hand up to show how small Dick was. “I would have guessed you were like three or four years old, but you were such a tiny kit that you might have been older. You came walking towards me, frowning in deep concentration, looking at your hand while counting something. You went, ‘a… b… d…’, bumped into my leg and stopped without actually acknowledging me by more than stopping because I was in the way, then you said, ‘No! Idiot! It’s A B, _C_ , D,’ and gave yourself an angry knock on the head. I stepped aside, and you kept walking. Cute as a button. For a moment I considered going after you to help you with the alphabet, but then Marty showed up, and when he saw something small and cute he only ever wanted to destroy it. So I grabbed him and we turned the other way.”

“You can read?” The arrangement of the alphabet was something Dick's struggled with. To him, the alphabet started with R, followed by A, then C and H - the order he'd learned the letters. It was easier with the other alphabets since he'd had people teaching them to him.

Knuckles shrugs. “A little bit.” Dick stares at him as if he’s never seen him before. Knuckles start smelling anxious and changes the topic. “By the way, I like what you’ve done with the place,” he says and nods towards the wall. “Art on every wall, an old-school nest? It’s a sweet setup. I wouldn’t mind living like this. Except we couldn’t find where you keep your pots and pans.”

“I don’t have any.”

“Then how do you cook?”

Dick shakes his head. "I've got skewers."

"Really? No tea, coffee, soup?"

Dick shakes his head again. "This is the first time I've had a stove as well as storage. Pots and pans are heavy and noisy to carry around."

"Makes sense. But you're about to get a reason to learn. There was no food, so the others are out getting food and supplies."

"You ate all my food?"

Knuckles frowns. "No. We didn't find any."

Dick grins, grabs Bolton's wrist and pulls while standing up. "Come. I'll show you. But you have to be quiet. Mercy told me the former landlord was paranoid and liked to spy on his tenants. When I feel lonely I do too." Bolton gets up and lets himself be dragged to the secret storage room. Dick opens it and flares to light the darkness. No reason to hide what Knuckles already knows. He gestures at his collection of canned food, vegetables and fruits. The sound of the craftsman pack below is clear in here, coming through the cracks in the floor. There are a few knotholes that allow Dick to see down through the floor as well when he lies down.

Knuckles hones in on the bananas. "The whole city's on the verge of instituting rations and you've got bananas?" he whispers.

"I was lucky," Dick answers. He sees Knuckles eye twitch while he stares at the cluster of bananas with badly hidden greed. Then Knuckles abruptly turns and leaves the storage room. Dick grabs the bananas and follows. When he's closed the door he asks, "Do you want one?"

Knuckles shoves his hands deep into his pockets, pulls up his shoulders and looks away. "Nah. Your scrawny ass needs them more than me," he dismisses then goes back to Dick's nest to hide from the temptation of the exotic treat. At least, that's Dick's interpretation. It's kind of irksome to find that Knuckles isn't a complete asshole. It would be easier if he was. But then again, Dick's never contemplated why Bolton is part of their group of friends beyond 'Why do they put up with him?' Maybe there's more to the bully than Dick's given him credit for?

Dick hears Knuckles rummage around in the nest, so he goes to peek over the edge of the upturned bed-turned-wall. Knuckles is arranging pillows and blankets very much like a cat or dog, shaping a soft crater in the middle. When Dick lived with his parents they never made nests. They slept on pallets or beds or rugs. Dick knows the Boltons have huge beds where they sleep together, all neat and tidy. But Dick's need to keep scented fabric around himself had led him to make nests to sleep on. Since he got this apartment he's had the luxury of not only having a mattress as a base, but being able to collect blankets and all the pillows he can get his hands on. Apparently, Knuckles loves it too.

Knuckles finally notices him and stops abruptly. He stares flatly at Dick for a beat, then scoots himself to sit against the wall as if he hadn't just been at the task of making the perfect sleeping crater. Dick's lips twitch in amusement. Knuckles plucks the cup out of the water bucket and holds it out to Dick. Dick comes around to take the offered drink, downs it and returns the cup. While Knuckles puts it down, Dick comes and sits on top of him, straddling him. Knuckles makes an indignant " _Mrrt?_ " but does nothing to stop him. Dick breaks off a banana from his cluster and puts the others down beside them. He begins to peel his banana and Knuckles goes into a completely passive state, turning his head away.

Dick takes a bite. "They're pretty good. They're sweet and have a very distinct taste."

"Mhm."

"They spoil awfully fast, though."

Knuckles makes a sound that doesn't mean anything.

If Dick intended to eat the bananas himself, this would be en extremely mean thing to do. But as Knuckles surmised, he isn't vindictive or cruel. He just wants to be treated with respect and not be robbed or hurt. He breaks off a piece of the banana. "Open your mouth," he commands. Knuckles’ gaze jumps to Dick, guarded and suspicious. Dick smiles. "My ass isn't _that_ scrawny, dear."

Knuckles snorts and opens his mouth. He still looks like he's expecting Dick to be messing with him. Dick puts the piece of banana in Knuckles' mouth. Knuckles starts chewing and purrs that high-pitched purr that's barely audible.

"Why are you whispering your enjoyment? It gives me more pleasure to hear you eat the banana than to eat it myself," Dick says and breaks off another piece.

"Really? But it's _so good_."

Dick chuckles. "I prefer nuts. Or even better - sour-sweet fruits like grapes, cherries and pomegranates."

Knuckles gives him a dubious look, but opens his mouth when Dick holds out the next piece.

By the time there's a knock on the window, Knuckles is purring like an engine, head tipped back with his eyes closed in pleasure, making an assortment of happy chirps and tweets. Dick's sitting between his legs with his side and head leaned against Knuckles' chest, letting the steady purring soothe his headache while he breaks off pieces of banana to feed Knuckles. He makes the pieces as small as possible to draw out the experience. He's purring an all-is-well that's synced with Knuckles', but you can't hear it because Knuckles isn't purring an all-is-well, he's purring an **ALL-IS-DARN-FANTASTICALLY-SUPER-WELL!!**

They hear the window open, then Laurent's voice. "Now that's music to my ear. What did you do to him, Dick? I thought he couldn’t purr like that."

"Eat turds, wormbrain," Knuckles says, but he doesn't stop purring. His cheek dimples as he tries to withhold a grin. Dick thinks he's rather handsome when he's happy. His jaw is a bit too broad, his eyes too close together for general beauty standards (mostly set by Progs and their strange obsession with looks). Normally, his face is set in a resting scowl, enhancing his reputation as a dumb brute. But now he’s oozing relaxed contentment, and when he opens his eyes, they’re bright and friendly. He’s actually a handsome man, Dick reflects.

“I’m afraid I de-aged him,” Dick answers. “All it took was a few bananas, and this wondrous kitty joy started sounding.”

Laurent leans over the bed-turned-half-wall to look at them with a bemused smirk. 

“I didn’t even do anything to deserve them,” Knuckles says smiling.

“What? Saving Dick’s life wasn’t enough?” Laurent counters with an eyebrow arched in dry humour.

“That wasn’t a big deal. I turned him over and got some puke on me. Hardly heroic,” Knuckles says then looks down at Dick. “Is that why you’re giving me bananas?”

“It could be, if you need to feel like you earned them. But no, dear. The only reason is that it looked like you wanted them when you spotted them, and I have plenty of other food, enough to share.” Dick knows it’s not the way of the world. You have to earn whatever you get or you’ll be left to die, alone. But he has this romantic notion of being loved and cared for unconditionally. Like he thought things worked back before he heard his parents discuss abandoning him. That’s what made him care for the cat that had just given birth to five kittens instead of eating them. That’s what gave him the impulse to share his bananas with Knuckles despite their history. Dick looks at Laurent. “You knew about the storage. Why didn’t you find my food?”

“I wasn’t sure you wanted to show that room to everyone.”

“Did you know he can’t cook? He has all these cans of food and he eats them cold. The only thing he knows how to do is skewer things and stick them in the fire,” Knuckles tells Laurent.

“Nonsense. I stick them _above_ the fire, dear.”

Both Laurent and Knuckles snigger. “You’re about to learn. I brought fresh fruits and vegetables and Aiden’s on his way with pots and pans,” Laurent says.

Later, when Mal, Mar, and Aiden are all back, Knuckles makes a show of pouring water into a pot on the stove and gives Dick a lesson on boiling eggs in a very mocking, derogatory, infantilizing tone. He ends with “But you’re probably so incompetent you’ll let it boil dry and burn the whole house down.” He continues making mean jokes while the others prepare a meal for them. It earns him a stern rebuke from Mar, but, for once, Dick isn’t listening to the tone, but the underlying message. By doing so, he learns how to boil water and cook eggs, not to let the pots boil dry, not to pour water over hot oil, and lots of other little tips and tricks. Since Knuckles delivers his lessons with rude mockery, it makes Knuckles look like an asshole instead of making Dick look stupid in front of Mal, Mar, and Aiden, who don’t know that Dick can’t cook.

* * *


	9. What's Up With Bolton?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick takes heed to Knuckles warning. At the same time, he starts reevaluating what he knows about Bolton...

* * *

Malicia’s laugh is music to Dick’s ears. She turns around and grins at him. “What _are_ you doing?”

“I’m deep-purring you, dear,” Dick answers smoothly.

Mal laughs harder, scent wonderfully happy. She’d smelled like a thundercloud when Dick started trailing after her. “You’re a Juvie, you loon!”

“It’s a tactical maneuver. I want you to be my mate. If Knuckles is right, then we need to get mated as soon as I present, and have lots and lots of sex. So I decided I'd court you beforehand, to make sure you're already madly in love with me when the time comes.”

Mal covers her mouth with her hand and giggles. Her dark eyes sparkle. Dick keeps hearing people say she’s cold and hard. He can’t begin to understand what they’re talking about. Of course, all Hales can be hard. They have to be, with how they rule their territory. But even Laurent has described her that way, and he _is_ a Hale, implying that she’s even harder than most of her peers in her own pack. “Okay. This wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with Knuckles courting me for a mateship, would it?”

“More than I will ever deign fit to admit,” Dick says smoothly. “That man is cruel and mean-spirited.” Although, Dick’s not all that sure that’s true anymore. “You need someone so much better. _Moi~_.” He points at himself. Mal laughs, looking delighted. “Tell me, does this mean I’ve impressed you with my enchanting purr, or should I trail after you for a bit longer?”

Mal giggles, turns around and starts walking again, continuing to giggle when Dick renews his deep-purring. “This is embarrassing,” she says, giggling. “What will people think?”

“You realise they don’t know I’m a Juvie, don’t you, dear?”

"Oh. I guess then it's fine," Mal says and keeps walking. She throws frequent looks over her shoulder at Dick, smiling bright with amusement. 

Two blocks later she stops and turns around to face him. Dick stops and pulls his first gift from his pocket, offering it to her.

"Is that… a pomegranate?" she asks.

"Only the best for you." Dick's never eaten the rare, exotic treat. But he's had vivid dreams about it. Somehow he remembers what one looks like opened though he knows he’s never seen it, and he has a distinct recollection of its taste. He has those kinds of dreams sometimes. They don't make sense, but feel as real as reality. Pomegranates are next to impossible to get in NY since the invasion. Dick’s lucky. One day he’d come across a Cuban ship’s captain arguing with a controller on the docks. There was a language problem. The Captain wasn’t allowed to unload his cargo. His import permit was outdated since the forms had changed only two weeks prior, and the controller knew too little Spanish and the Cuban too little English to sort things out. The Captain was frustrated since his cargo consisted of fruits that would spoil if he had to wait too long to unload. Dick offered his help. In the end, it was easy to get the new permit since the old one was valid when the change took place. Dick was offered payment in fruit and a standing job as a translator if he was on the dock at the same time and place every month. That’s how Dick got his bananas, and that’s how he got the pomegranate.

"Wow." Her hand hovers over the ugly fruit. "You want to share it with me on the roof?"

“It’s meant to be a gift, dear, but if you wish to share it? Naturally.”

It's a sunny day. The view over the harbour is beautiful from this height. The misery of the world is faded and distant. Dick loves windless summer days like these. They sit side by side and share the pomegranate mostly in companionable silence while watching a small, solitary cloud slowly drift across the blue sky. The juice from the pomegranate seeds colour their lips crimson. Dick watches Mal close her eyes, head tilted up towards the sun with a small smile, muscles relaxed. On impulse, Dick leans in and presses his lips softly against hers. She sucks in a surprised breath and opens her eyes. The kiss lingers for a moment, then she gently pushes him away while smelling of excitement and happiness. She grins at him, then looks away, cheeks tinting pink. “I should think that was gross,” she says.

“You absolutely should _not_ ,” Dick states with a little smirk. 

Mal snickers. “You’re a Juvie. We should be hissing at each other from opposite sides of the roof.”

“Why? My parents used to kiss me on the mouth.”

Mal tilts her head and narrows her eyes. “They didn’t have time to teach you much, did they?” Dick shakes his head. “We have a built-in failsafe that prevents sexual interaction between adults and minors. And I bet your parents used to kiss you like this,” she gives him a quick peck on the mouth. “Not like…” She takes a fortifying breath muttering “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” and leans in again, this time cupping his cheek and slotting their lips together softly. It’s a bit wetter, and gives him a whole hoard of butterflies going rampant in his belly. Mal lingers on the kiss this time. When she pulls back Dick wants to follow. “Are you sure you haven’t presented?” she asks.

“I don’t have a knot yet.”

Malicia frowns, small and concerned. “Okay… Maybe you don’t have a Juvie marker underneath that lack of scent? Because of the EB50 we were exposed to? Normally, a kiss like that should have made us both uncomfortable, not given me heart palpitations,” she says then smiles shyly. “Even if I can’t smell you, you should’ve been grossed out.”

“Trust me, Mal, I’m anything but. It made me tingly all over. In a good way.”

Mal smiles again and bumps his shoulder with her own. “We still shouldn’t be doing it before you’ve properly presented.”

“I can pace myself,” Dick says. “I got you another gift. A very selfish one.”

“Oh yeah? What is it?”

Dick takes a beautiful silver filigree comb from his pocket. It had cost him a hand and a foot, but Mal’s worth it.

“It’s beautiful. How’s that a selfish gift?”

“Because I’m hoping you’ll let me comb your hair with it. It’s something I’ve wanted to do since I was a kit hiding under the pier spying on you.”

Mal grins at her lap. “Go ahead.” Dick scoots to sit behind her and starts to comb through her long, black hair. It’s just as silken as he’s always imagined it. He purrs his contentment. “Most of the pack thinks I’m crazy for keeping it this long,” Mal says. “It’s really impractical, but I like it. And in a way, it’s what brought you and Knuckles to me.”

“That might be true, dear, but we stay for more than just your hair. If you decide to shave your head one day, I’ll mourn the loss of it, but I’ll love you as much as I ever did. I'm certain that holds true for Bolton too.”

“Thank you.”

“So why were you in a bad mood when I met you earlier?” Dick asks when both of them are relaxed and purring, Malicia’s hair combed completely free of knots and tangles. He keeps combing anyway just for the pleasure of it.

“Ugh. Aiden. Why else?”

“What did he do?”

“Nothing. Same as he always does.”

“Why don’t you like him?”

"He's a user and a coward. It drives me crazy that he can just flare and get what he wants. He knows very well that Laurent's in love with him, and he's milking it for all its worth."

"A coward? When Mar got into a fight, he didn't hesitate to jump into the fray."

It’s like opening a floodgate. Mal’s scent gets spiky with low-key anger. "I don't mean like that. First off, nothing he does concerning Mar counts. Aiden obsesses over his little brother like, like, I don't know.” She waves her hand haphazardly. “But I'm not talking about valor. Aiden's not afraid of dying or getting hurt. I'm talking about taking risks. Aiden always, _always_ takes the easiest way out. In many ways, he's smarter than Mar. He's better at seeing when a situation could lead to conflict, and he always avoids it. Mar is self-absorbed. He lives in his bubble, so you have to point stuff out to him. Like you, saying they should adopt me and Laurent. Mar tried to get them to do it, but he's in conflict with high-ranking people at home so they wouldn’t do it. Aiden could easily have tipped the scales. But he kept his mouth shut. He doesn't like me, and he doesn’t want me in the pack, and because you pointed out that Laurent and I shouldn't be separated, Aiden won't help. It’s always like that. He avoids conflict and emotional hardship like the plague. He’s got the power to change things because people are bedazzled by him. But Mar needs to ask him to help before he gets involved. Even then, he’s still been known to refuse just so he can avoid any conflicts at home.”

Dick hands her the comb and scoots to sit beside her so he can look at her face when she talks.

Mal goes on. “And don’t get me started on how much I hate what he does to Laurent. He’ll go, ‘Are we getting high, or what?’ and Laurent is so desperate to please him that he’ll go out of his way to make sure Aid gets whatever he wants. As long as Aiden gives him one of those private, flirty, flared smiles, Laurent’s happy. But Aiden doesn’t actually give him anything back like Marlon does. He’s just along for the ride. You know what that does to Laurent’s self-esteem? It’s like Laurent thinks that if everyone around him isn’t pleased, he somehow hasn’t filled his quota. And Aiden’s setting the bar for what reward he deserves for his efforts. I just… _Gnnn_! It frustrates me. Laurent’s worth so much more than what Aiden gives him.”

“I agree. But Aiden’s never mean to Laurent,” Dick feels compelled to point out.

“No,” Mal admits grumpily. “Oh, and when someone doesn't agree with Aiden, he'll do that thing when he flares and tells them to validate his opinion. Like he did to you over Donarrion's Gift. You have no idea how much I loved you when you brushed him off. You're not even remotely impressed by him and his stupid, red eyes."

Dick huffs a little laugh and looks at his lap. "You're wrong, dear. I get weak-kneed and flustered when he directs his charming smile and enchanting flare my way."

"Really? But you never show it?"

"I often hide my true feelings."

Mal’s silent for a while. "It affects me too," she confesses quietly. "He's so handsome. And sometimes I imagine how it would feel, looking up into a pair of red eyes glowing strong while making love. It’s so hot, it makes me want to have sex face to face just to see it. Then I feel like an idiot for even thinking it. Just because he’s handsome and stupidly charming when he wants to be, doesn’t change that he’s an asshole and a cowardly user. I saw their Patriarch once. He’s got those red eyes too, and the same arrogant charm. I wonder if red eyes mean someone is an asshole by default?” She’s quiet for a beat. “But then again, it’s not really _just_ about the red colour.”

“Of course not. It’s about the height, muscles, strength and charm. Not to mention the money,” Dick agrees.

Mal snorts a laugh. “Who cares about the money? No, I wasn’t thinking about any of those things. I meant, the red eyes. It’s a legendary trait. The red-eyed Alpha is depicted in fairytales and myths. He’s the hero, the chosen one, the saviour of the day. But in reality, he doesn’t exist. Red eyes are so rare many people think they don’t exist at all. So when you meet someone like that, someone who seems to fit the whole fairytale fantasy, you get this urge to… I don’t know, own him?”

Dick knows all about that. The awe and greed he’s seen in people’s eyes when he’s flared. That’s why he doesn’t do it anymore. He’s so small, already a target, without people wanting to capture him and use him or hurt him. _Own_ him. 

Mal goes on. “No, that’s not it. I don’t want to force him. I want to be chosen. You meet this legendary creature, and what you really want is for him to be smitten and devoted to you. You want him to choose you. Like their Patriarch. He was mated to their Main for decades, barely looking at another O aside from bonding. They’re not mated anymore, and Marlon says he’s poking his penis into everyone now, just like Aid. Mar’s words, not mine. So their Main was chosen. She was seen by someone special, and he thought _she_ was special. Do you understand now?”

“So you wouldn’t want to share him with another O as his mate too, if you got mated to him?” Dick asks curiously.

Mal chuckles. “As a mate? Of course, I would. I mean if you look at Aiden and all these Os lining up to be with him, they think they’re only doing it for bragging rights. But not a single one of them would turn him down if he decided to court them for a mateship. But he won’t. He barely even courts them for a knotting. They just give it up to him anyway.”

“He gets them drinks,” Dick points out.

“That he doesn’t pay for,” Mal counters and lies down to stare at the sky. Not that the paying part is truly important if Dick understands courting correctly. You have to show that you can provide for your partner, but _how_ you go about doing that is another matter. So if people give you stuff for free on a regular basis, that counts as providing too. Same as if you steal what you need. Knuckles, however, has been buying Mal drinks and food even when he can get it for free. Dick respects the gesture, even if he hates having competition.

Dick hums and lays down on his side beside her, supporting his head in his palm. “You know, I’ve always lied and claimed I’m the designation of whoever I’m talking to. If I spoke to a Packrunner, I made up a pack named the Red Romans and said I belonged to it. Then I met you, and suddenly I started feeling it and it stopped being a lie. My pack _is_ the Red Romans even if I’m the only one in it. That’s how I identify these days, though I still lie when I speak to people of other designations.”

“You’ve told me that before.”

“I have. Have you ever wondered why I named my pack the Red Romans?”

Mal shakes her head. Dick rolls to hold himself on all fours above her. Mal laughs. “What are you doing?”

“In case it isn’t clear, I love you. I’ve watched you from afar since we both were kits, thinking you were incredibly beautiful. These days I love you for your personality and scent as well as your beauty,” Dick says. Mal holds back a giggle and smells overjoyed. Dick gathers courage, incredibly nervous all the sudden. “Is this the view you want?” he asks and flares.

Mal gasps in wonder, cheeks lit up red by Dick’s bright flare. “Dicky! _Mercury!_ We thought you couldn’t flare at all and…” She reaches up to touch his cheek, looking at his eyes in awe.

“I can flare just fine, dear. But I don’t like the attention it brings me. It’s never made me safe, and it’s reduced me to nothing but the colour of my eyes. I want to be seen for who I am, not my genetics. So I don’t flare where people can see me, unless I’m in a state of panic. I already know you like me for who I am, so I’m letting you in on my secret,” Dick tells her with a little smirk.

“They’re even prettier than Aiden’s… the red of summer blossoms, hope, and defiance. Not the dark red of rubies and blood…” Mal says with a reverent tone. Dick doesn’t agree. He thinks his own poppy red is boring in comparison to Aiden’s. But he’s not going to argue when someone says good things about him. Mal suddenly giggles. “All those times you’ve shut Aiden up by saying ‘you’re not that special’ make a lot more sense now. I wonder if he saw you, if he’d feel about you the way we feel about him. Maybe his heart would lodge in his throat too.”

Dick feels a blush creep up his cheeks. “He’s not the only Williams with red eyes,” Dick points out.

“Yes, but he’s still been led to believe they’re special because of it.”

“Do you still think all red-eyes are assholes?”

Mal grins and shakes her head, caressing his temple and eyebrow.

“Mal, don’t get mated to Knuckles. Even if you don’t want to wait for me, don’t mate him. Not because of him, but because you’ll be miserable in the Boltons. I’ve seen their dynamics on the inside when I lived on top of them. You won’t like it.” Dick’s not so sure Knuckles likes their dynamics either. Since that day when he got drunk and woke up with Knuckles sitting on his bed, Dick’s been watching him. He’s more and more certain that Antoine Bolton is _a lot_ smarter than he pretends to be, and has a lot of opinions that diverge from his pack’s.

Mal’s grin softens. “Richard, if I wasn’t waiting for you, I’d already be mated to him. It’s never good to be mated in two packs, and I want to end up with you, one way or another. I know you’re never going to be a Bolton, so I’m waiting.”

Dick can't remember when he last was this happy. "You could always join my pack before I present. You'll be the Main and I'm the Juviarch."

Mal giggles. "Technically, you could be a Jain," she jokes.

"Don't be silly, dear. I'm male." The very idea is horrible. Nevermind how unthinkable and rare it is that a boy presents as an O, it would also mean he couldn’t mate Mal. He rejects the idea out of hand, despite what Knuckles said that day. He lies back down beside her and changes the subject. “Laurent said you’ve moved out?”

“Yes. My biological dad’s our Patriarch, and the aversion period is over. It’s easier to resist Laurent, especially with people around us, but the compulsion to be with dad got too strong. Either we would have ended up having sex, and people in the pack would have talked shit about me behind my back. Or we wouldn’t, and I’d suffer rejection-depression. I can’t imagine how much either would mess with my head.”

“So where do you live now?”

“With a temporary pack of bachelor Os close to the Sanctuary. I’m still Siderunning the Hales, doing my old job.” She rolls over to put her head on Dick’s shoulder and an arm around his chest. “You’re not mad that I stay with them, are you? If I join your pack now, I’d develop the hormones of a Main, and that would spell disaster if you’re still serious about taking in Laurent as well.” 

“Of course, I am.”

Mal purrs and closes her eyes. The future is bright, if he’d just present.

* * *

Knuckles is gone. He never shows up at The Sanctuary anymore. The Jayhawks and Marshall have run into him a couple of times, and he’s told them he can’t stand Mar, of all people, and wants nothing to do with them anymore.

It makes no sense. One minute he’s courting Malicia as if his life depended on it, the next he’s gone. Dick should be thrilled. It means no more mean jokes and comments, no competition for Mal’s interest. But he’s not. He’s worried. “Hey, Laurent? How did you and Knuckles become friends?” he asks one day when he’s early to the Sanctuary and only he and Laurent are there yet. The Sanctuary never closes. During the least active hours, they clean it and switch to records playing instead of live artists. They’ll clean the room in sections, lighting strong ceiling lights while they work. The corner belonging to Dick’s rat pack still smells of odor-removing cleaner. The scent of the cleaner will evaporate in 30 minutes or so. By then, their corner will smell like Laurent, since Laurent is currently working on marking their tables and couch again, milking his glands and rubbing his fingers wherever he can reach. Dick sits next to him watching the activity move to the tables by the dance floor as staff work on cleaning part of the gambling section.

“Huh? Oh. Met him at the docks when I was swimming. I was with Mal at the time. She was perched nearby to keep me company and holler teasing remarks, but I wanted someone to play with me in the water. Then this older boy showed up and stood nearby to watch us. I challenged him to a race, to see who could swim the fastest. He said he couldn't swim, so I offered to teach him. Mal helped coax him into it, and we've been friends ever since." Laurent smiles uncertainly. "He's not… he's not such a bad guy behind his mask. I know you two have history, but…"

Dick holds up his hands to forestall any defensive speeches. "I've got history with the Hales too, dear. I'm trying not to let it affect me, so I should extend the same favour to Bolton. And since I became friends with you, the only thing he's done to me is crack mean jokes. I've responded in kind."

“Yeah...” Laurent looks at his drink and spins the glass around between his fingers. "Sometimes… sometimes I've been close to telling you to tone down the remarks about him. But he's asked me not to. And you only do it when he's there. I've never caught you talking shit about him other than to his face."

"Why would he ask you not to?"

Laurent huffs. "He says he and his brother were unbearably cruel to you. And that you weren't raised a Packrunner so you can't be expected to drop any grudges as soon as peace is declared. Which is what we do… He also keeps reminding me and Mal that you weren't actually _raised_. That the few years you had any adult influence it was Conservative. We keep forgetting that, but he never does."

"He's a very intelligent man," Dick states. Laurent looks at him in surprise, then scrutinizes him for sarcasm. Dick chuckles. "Yes, I'm serious. I didn't see it at first, but he is."

Laurent nods. "He is. I don't know why he pretends he isn't, but he is." Laurent looks back at his glass again. He seems to deliberate with himself, then he says, "He says you killed his brother."

"He's very forgiving, if he thinks that. I don't get it. Didn't he love his brother?"

Laurent nods. "Like the sun. The first year after Marty died was horrible. Knuckles was so broken up about it. He even lost his scent for a short while. But then, when he came back to himself, he was relieved."

"Why?"

Laurent squirms uncomfortably. "I don't like passing on things told in confidence, but... Knuckles didn't explicitly say it was a secret." He takes a deep breath, holding it in and puffing up his cheeks, then lets the air out in a puff of defeat. "Okay. But remember, I never met Marty in person."

"I have. You can count yourself lucky."

Laurent huffs a humourless laugh. "Yeah, Knuckles said the same thing. He made sure we never met. Anyway, he told me Marty's love was intense and demanding, like Marlon's, but, unlike Mar, Marty demanded proof of devotion all the time. He'd hurt Knuckles, saying he had to endure it to prove his love. So Knuckles would get away from Marty when Marty was distracted, because his tough love was too much sometimes. That's how we met in the first place, why he was alone that day. After Marty died, Knuckles realized how badly abused he'd been. He’d been made to think he deserved it and had to put up with it to show his worth. Once he got over the shock and the grief, he described it as if he was waking up from lifelong demon possession. But it's hard for him. He still misses his little brother, yet he's terrified he’ll end up running with him when he dies."

"Knuckles is the older brother?"

"By 14 whole minutes," Laurent grins. The smile fades. “Their mom died. Marty had to be cut out of her belly after she was already dead. Knuckles thinks that maybe Marty had some brain damage because of it, and that’s why he was so cruel.”

"Why did the pack put up with Martijn's behaviour?"

"Oh. The Boltons have a different dynamic than most packs around here. Marty was seen as the golden boy, just like Aid is the golden boy of the Williamses. You already know rank in a pack is sometimes settled through fights. You know brief shows of symbolic violence can settle disputes. You yourself posture and deliver the occasional bite to show you mean business. It's natural. But the Boltons are different,” Laurent starts explaining. Dick’s seen their dynamics and knows it’s a violent pack, but he listens intently because few things are as enlightening as listening to a Packrunner talk about pack dynamics. Laurent goes on. “They settle rank only through fighting. They're a lot more violent than most packs. If I was a Bolton, I could be ranked at the top. You might not believe it, but I'm a great fighter. Especially in one-on-one duels when I'm sure I'm not going to be attacked from any other angle. I _hate_ having to fight, but I'm good at it. In my pack that doesn't determine rank, though, except in rare circumstances. We determine rank through leadership abilities and willingness to lead, just like the Williamses, Jayhawks, Swifts, and Cavellis."

"You don't want to be high ranking?"

Laurent laughs. "Not if I can help it. I'd do what's demanded of me, but I hate being in charge, being responsible for other people's happiness. I've got too much empathy."

"Isn't that a good thing in a leader?"

Laurent shakes his head. "Not if you have too much of it…" He hesitates for a beat. "Say, are you serious about wanting both me and Mal in your pack?"

"Naturally, dear."

Laurent gives him an almost shy smile. "Then, when the time comes, you're going to have to go to my Main and Patriarch and ask their permission, or it will be considered a sniping. Sniping’s a form of theft, and you don’t want them to think you’re stealing me. You'll have to explain why you want me in your pack and that you can look out for me. They'll ask me if that's what I want, and I'll say yes, and they'll let me go. You know how Mar's always saying 'we are one'? For us, and most packs, that means we put the happiness of the individual members before the pack since they’re us, right? Since all of us are doing it, it makes for a happy pack. Not all packs will let members leave willy-nilly, but most are willing to negotiate. Boltons aren’t like that. The pack goes before the individual to such a degree the individual has no freedom of choice, not even over whether to stay or go. Bolton’s aren’t even the worst. If they were, Knuckles wouldn’t even be allowed to make outpack friends unless he had permission. Still it’s… Well, let’s just say I don’t envy him for being born into that pack.”

“Wouldn’t that give people wanderlust?”

“Not necessarily. First, it depends on how members are recruited. Like-minded people are drawn together. Then it’s a matter of conditioning. I’m not extremely familiar with that kind of dynamics, okay? But the hierarchy is different. Stricter, more competitive. If someone gets wanderlust, they’re courted until it goes away. But they’re… They break you down then build you back up their way to create an ‘us against everyone else’ sort of mentality."

"If you know this, why would you and Mal even consider Knuckles as a possible mate for her?"

“Because Knuckles loves her madly, and she'll adapt better to the Boltons than I ever could, as long as the rest of his pack accepts her and treats her like one of them. And Knuckles is a friend. It'd mean we'd still get to hang out despite running in different packs."

Hanging out with Packrunners now, having had them influence most of his life since he was 7, Dick's picked up a few things. He knows they feel a compulsion to have sex with their Main and Patriarch, and that if they can't or don't, they'll be hit with rejection depression that may drive them mad if it goes on too long. Dick won't pretend he understands it, but he knows it would spell catastrophe if Mal or Laurent ended up a leader of the pack the other was in. Dick still wants them both in his pack since that would mean they would never have conflicting interests. It would work, since neither of them is overly ambitious. Laurent doesn’t want to be a Patriarch and Mal doesn’t want to be Main.

Dick purses his lips in thought. Laurent sips his drink and watches him with curious anticipation, as if he’s sensing that more questions are coming.

"Is it usual for Knuckles to disappear like this?" Dick asks at last.

Laurent shakes his head. "No. Not really. I'm surprised by it. But maybe something happened between him and Mar that we don't know about." He shrugs.

"It seems odd. The way Knuckles' eyes burn when Mar goes on one of his anti-Conservative rants, he's preaching Knuckles' gospel," Dick points out.

Laurent’s eyebrows knit in concern. He drags a hand through his hair and smells vaguely of anxiety. "I know, I know. But I feel like we have to respect him if he needs some time away from us."

Dick hums, but he doesn’t agree. If only because he knows that if he himself went missing for a while, he’d probably need his friends more than anything. "What would you say are Knuckles' best qualities as a friend?"

Laurent chuckles. "You sound like you're conducting a job interview or something."

"Antoine and I had a rough start. I'm trying to see beyond that. When I woke up alone with him in my bed, he acted out of character. At least, that was my perception at the time. I think I’ve been blinded to the real him by how terrified I’ve been of him. Since I’ve gotten to know you, I’ve constantly feared he’d harm me like he once did. But the events that day and the night before have made me reconsider."

“You’ve been terrified of him this whole time?” Laurent asks, eyebrows rising in surprise.

Dick nods. “Yes, dear.”

“Oh. You certainly haven’t shown it.” Laurent grins. “In fact, you’ve been provoking him a heck of a lot.”

Dick smirks and shrugs. “What else can I do when seated at a table with my former tormentor? But I started asking myself why he was part of your group, when everyone else seems like decent people. I’d like to be able to see what you see when you look at him.”

Laurent nods in understanding and smells happy. "He's brave. The guy is terrified of both the sea and heights, but you wouldn't know, because he'll climb and swim anyway. He's rock-steady and loyal. Never backs down, never leaves you to tackle problems by yourself. And when you're alone with him, he isn't as mean as he is around people. You saw it. Remember what he was like when you gave him your bananas? I can honestly say that I've never heard him purr that loudly," Laurent says with a small smile.

"He whispers his purrs. It's very disconcerting to me. I had to coax him to let himself be heard."

Laurent makes a grimace. "Yeah… about that. I've been meaning to ask you, did he tell you about the bananas?"

"He only exclaimed about how I had them. I told him I was lucky. I could see he wanted them, but he shoved his hands in his pockets and went to hide in my nest."

"Mh. You know, in all packs the leaders have privileges. We understand that responsibility is a heavy burden, so the bigger the pack, the more privileges. But good leaders still put the pack before themselves. Nursing members, and kits eat first if food is scarce. Nobody would protest if the Main ate first, but she won't. The Boltons are the same in that department. But at an early age, they make their kits start earning privileges in ways we or the Williamses don't."

"How?"

"I can give you one example specifically for Knuckles. Bananas. He's loved them since he first tried them. So they would show him a banana, tell him what he had to do to earn it, and if he failed, they’d let the banana lie where he could see it until it rotted. Too often they made the quest too hard for him on purpose. It didn't help that Marty never failed his quests, so Knuckles was constantly compared to him, and constantly coming up short. "

Dick hums thoughtfully and thinks back to the time Knuckles said Dick might have trouble staying alive when he finally presented. He’d said, 'As a friend, telling him 'if he can dream it, he can be it' might actually kill him.' Later that evening, when Knuckles cornered Dick in the restroom, Dick had expected violence. 'Not here to hurt you' was the first thing Knuckles said. ‘You think I only said those things to be mean?’ he’d asked. And yes. Dick had thought that. Now he’s not so sure. Maybe Knuckles considers himself to be Dick’s friend, and Dick simply hasn’t returned the favour? Maybe Knuckles uses his crude, mean jokes as a defense mechanism? But why? And why has he disappeared if he’s never done so before? He’s often stated that Marlon is an asshole, (Which is true.) but he’s never made a show of disliking him. In fact, when Marlon goes on a rant, Knuckles is first to agree that Conservatives are a blight on this world. It all bothers Dick. He can’t get it out of his head.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mean, I shouldn't have to explain this, but Mal's pov of Aiden, while holding some truth, doesn't align up with reality any more than Laurent's pov where Aiden can do no wrong. 
> 
> :)


	10. The Lost One's Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick stalks Knuckles, and notes a lot of oddities about him and his pack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A super huge thank you to my betas Lisa and Melina! You're doing a great job and I appreciate you taking your valuable time to help me! <3<3<3

* * *

The houses in this area are fancy with broad ledges along the walls and far too many gargoyles perched on every storey and all along the roof. They’re the perfect companions for Dick, especially since he rolled in the dust of a building site hours ago to more easily blend into the background. He’s out of the slums now, but still far from the well-to-do parts of the city. It took him a while to track down Knuckles, and now he’s been stalking him all evening. Knuckles is hard to stalk. Unlike the rest of his pack, he always keeps an eye out upward when he’s on the move, so Dick keeps his distance. Stealth is one of Dick’s primary skills, though. Walking around like he owns the place is new behaviour for him, that only happened after he got friends and began to thrive. Falling back on old habits though comes naturally, those lessons he learned the hard way, don’t be seen and don’t be heard. Knuckles’ behaviour is curious. A couple hours ago he finished his job and walked to the slums, avoiding territories that belonged to his friends. He bought a bottle of liquor and went to a secluded area of the bay where he sat, drinking alone and whittling sticks into nothing while looking at the large clocktower across the bay. Then he went home. They’re back in Bolton territory, and the streets are mostly deserted when a shadow steps out of a doorway to block Knuckles path.

“Hey, Tony, you’re home early. Found out anything important?” the shadow says. When he steps out of the shadow into the street light Dick recognises him as a high ranking Bolton.

"Hey, Marcel. Roman got a new pair of boots," Knuckles answers.

His superior smacks him on the head. "That's not important, idiot."

"Ow. It is to _him_ ," Knuckles says and rubs his head.

His superior rolls his eyes. "I mean something important to _us_. Why do we even allow you to hang out with them every other night when you're too dumb to ever learn something useful?"

Knuckles shoves his hands into his pockets and hunches his shoulders, oozing resentment.

His superior puts a hand on his shoulder, voice getting softer. "I know you aren't the sharpest tool in the shed, and it's hard for you to understand what we want to know. But you’re in a unique position. You're friends with Hales, Jayhawks, Swifts and fucking Williamses. It's important that you try to find out as much as possible. Especially now. _You_ know what we're planning. We would benefit from knowing, for example, if any of the packs have internal conflict, any hidden political agendas, if they've got new alliances or if they’re planning for war. Things like that. I'm sure you think it's a big deal that Marlon Williams doesn't want to have sex, but we're more interested in his political insights or his job within the pack.”

“I’ve told you, we never talk about politics. They all come there to get smashed and get _away_ from the stuff we want to know,” Knuckles says.

“Then you take the fucking lead, moron!” His superior shouts in his face. “You’re so damned stupid you can’t even ask questions? Useless piece of shit!” Knuckles licks his lips submissively and takes something out of his pocket. He holds it out to his superior. It's a thick roll of cash he’d collected earlier that day while working. His superior smiles and takes the money. "How wrong of me. You're not completely useless after all. Lucky you can use your fists to make up for lacking a brain. I still say, the wrong brother died."

"Martijn angered Maluk, I didn't," Knuckles protests.

"Tssk. I bet the demon that took him got you two confused. Come on. Let's go home."

As the pair walk away, Dick's seething with such rage he can barely contain himself. He vows to make sure 'a demon' gets this high ranking Bolton who dares talk like that to _his_ Antoine.

As Dick walks home he manages to calm down a bit. He thinks about what he's seen. The Boltons want Knuckles to spy for them, so Knuckles plays dumb. Saying that Marlon Williams doesn't talk politics is the biggest lie in the history of lies. And Knuckles is only pretending to go to the Sanctuary when he’s really hiding away by himself. The Boltons are planning something. Dick wants to find out what. Most important, though, is that Knuckles didn't suddenly develop a hatred for Mar, he's protecting his friends by withdrawing. He's caught between two factions with different interests, and he's showing loyalty to both by betraying both. At least, that's Dick's conclusion. He needs to know more.

Dick starts stalking Knuckles for real. Watching him work brings back terrifying memories. Knuckles is a thug doing dirty work. The Boltons are running legal businesses, illegal money lending with sky-high interest rates, and forced protective services where they make business owners pay for protection from the Boltons. While they won't tolerate anyone else hitting 'their' businesses, the Boltons are the biggest threat to those they protect. Kits and Juvies are meant to be out learning to 'hunt'. Which explains why everyone who ever targeted Dick was young. Adults don't do muggings unless they stumble upon someone too tempting.

Knuckles’ job is to collect money from people who have borrowed money. It's tough work sometimes, but most are too scared to do anything but pay up. Knuckles doesn't seem to have an aversion to his job like Laurent has, but he doesn't perform with the glee Marlon allegedly does. Knuckles and Laurent basically perform the same task, at least in part. Laurent also sells drugs which is why he always has drugs on him, but, because he's such a good fighter, he has to collect unpaid debts as well. Dick doesn't want him doing the job because it makes him miserable. His empathy and friendly nature would make him a perfect domestic, as Packrunners call them. Someone who takes care of the home and the wellbeing of the pack. 

Dick overhears several conversations between Knuckles and other Boltons. Not everyone treats him like he's a useless good-for-nothing, but most still drop thoughtless comparisons to his dead brother. Only once does Dick catch Knuckles showing off his intelligence. He's coming out of a local drugstore with the same superior from the first night. Knuckles is livid. 

"Marcel, are you _insane_? You keep saying _I'm_ the dumb one, but even I can see that what you're doing is asking for trouble."

"It's just a couple of small businesses, Tony. It's not like the Williams pack will notice."

"Are you kidding? You think they got that rich by not noticing when someone encroaches on their turf? They will _obliterate_ us!"

"They're a bunch of suits. Besides, in companies that large, the head doesn't know what the hands are doing."

"They're trained soldiers with combat experience who _dabble_ in business. You're a damned idiot who will be the death of us all!" Knuckles corrects heatedly.

The slap is so hard it leaves a crimson handprint on Knuckles' cheek. Knuckles averts his face and licks his lips, but his chest still heaves in anger. "Don't put your nose in the business of your betters, Tony. You're too dumb to understand what we're doing," his superior growls.

Knuckles growls while licking his lips, wordlessly saying 'I submit without changing my opinion'.

His superior growls a threat, then walks away, leaving Knuckles behind to seethe resentfully on his own.

Dick’s first impulse is to follow the superior and stab him in the back. But he realises that this is everyday life for Knuckles. Offing one Bolton won’t change much. The superior in question won’t live to see the end of the year, Dick promises himself that, but killing him straight away isn’t the answer. Especially since that particular Alpha seems to have unusually interesting conversations with Knuckles in public. Dick thinks it’s a bit odd that a high-ranking Alpha like this Marcel-guy would slip up and discuss things that would be best kept private. Not that Dick’s complaining.

Instead, Dick follows Knuckles when he walks off in the other direction. Knuckles isn’t vigilant for once. His hands are shoved deep in his pockets, and he’s glaring at the ground, kicking a stone in front of him. 

Dick follows him for two blocks then lengthens his steps until they’re walking side by side. After several yards, Dick speaks. “Nice day for a stroll, huh?”

Knuckles jerks and pulls back his arm, making a fist to punch before he sees it’s Dick. “Damnit, Dicky! Don't sneak up on me. I could’ve hurt you."

“Aww. Did you scare yourself with your lack of vigilance? And if we’re being technical, you _have_ hurt me,” Dick shrugs indifferently. “Water under the bridge now,” he adds.

“Is it?”

“Mhm.” Dick sees Knuckles’ skeptical expression and chuckles. “I was as surprised as you are, when I realised it was true.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Why, I came to see you, dear. You haven’t been around.”

“Yeah? Maybe you should’ve taken that as a hint that I don’t want to see you guys.”

Dick tssks. “The Jayhawks told me it’s Mar, in particular, you’re trying to avoid.”

“The guy’s a complete asshole.”

Which is a statement as true as it’s false. “Indeed. Remember that time when that man sat down by our table and Mar made a retching sound and told the guy he smelled so awful he had to leave.”

Knuckles’ lips twitch, one cheek dimpling until he can’t hold back a snigger. “Who can forget?”

“I’ve never been so grateful for Marlon’s lack of a filter. I personally don’t think I could have told someone to go away over something they can’t help. It’s too hurtful. But he did smell… uncomfortably odd.”

“Hah! I knew you’d have a prosperous scent underneath,” Knuckles says triumphantly. “You know, the guy could help how he smelled?”

Dick lifts a questioning eyebrow.

“I’d never smelled someone with a scent like that. It was off, somehow. So I went to ask him about it,” Knuckles explains. “I figured, maybe it was a disease we’d never encountered before. Turns out, the guy was participating in an experiment. They’re trying to make perfume for Primals that replicates the scent of prosperity. But it’s a lot harder than they thought. So the perfume he was wearing worked partially. He could fool people who are on the bottom of the barrel, living in misery and not thriving. But the more prosperous a person is, the odder the manufactured scent seems, making us feel disgusted or uncomfortable. They don’t have an explanation for that yet.”

“That’s interesting. Though I don’t like the idea of people cheating others with fake scent.”

“No. I’m willing to bet that if they’re successful, it won’t take long for the government to outlaw it. The rich and powerful don’t want to be fooled into sharing their Os with unsuitable Alphas, or give jobs to those who aren’t fit for them. But the guy told me he thought the perfume had adverse side effects too. He’d been feeling increasingly unwell since he started using it.”

“Unwell, how?” Dick asks. Knuckles shrugs and Dick hums disappointedly. They walk in silence for a few more yards before Dick speaks again. “I understand if you don’t want to see Mar. He trashed you completely, from what I’ve been told. And all you did was try to break up a fight he started,” he says, prodding Knuckles’ lie with a verbal stick. He knows very well Knuckles has long since forgiven Mar for what he’d done when he’d gotten blackout drunk.

Knuckles hunches his shoulders and looks at his feet while he walks. “He came by to apologise. He was very ashamed of himself. And, I think, a bit frightened. He trashed me and hurt Laurent and Marshall pretty badly. The next time he started getting too drunk, I damn near freaked out, but he stopped drinking when Laurent asked him to.” He side-eyes Dick. “Which is what you should be doing too. I don’t ever want to see you choke on your own vomit again, turd-head.”

“If you’re not around, you won’t see it, dear,” Dick points out. Knuckles grunts but doesn’t respond. "But I see why you won't come. With all the vitriol Mar spills on Conservatives. And despite him being such a knothead, he absolutely refuses to knot a Conservative O… Oh wait! That’s not Mar, that’s someone else…” He gives Knuckles a teasing wink.

Knuckles frowns deeply, nostrils flaring angrily. “Hey, look, I might be a dumb knothead, but if she won’t consider converting then why should I waste my time? The cultural divide is too great. Just look at you. I slept shirtless and you wrapped yourself around me, _yearning_ for skin-to-skin contact. But when you realised I could see you naked, you got so panicked you started hyperventilating. And you’re a convert for crying out loud! Looking at some random Conservative O? What if I get sweet on her? They’re messed up in the head the whole bunch of them. It’s not always their fault. You only got 6 years of Conservative influence and it’s still making it harder for you to adapt to us. The Conservative culture is built around _preventing_ most bonds so they can have absolute control over the few bonds they _do_ form. With their singular mating bond, they’re trying to force the hormones of a Main and Patriarch. But not everyone is meant to lead. It spells disaster, but since a mated pair of Conservatives often share both a mating bond and a Main-Patriarch bond, it’s a lot more difficult for them to get wanderlust. And you know what happens then? They have too many kits they can’t provide for and their kits die. It makes me so mad when I think about what your parents did to you. You know what they should have done the moment they realised they couldn’t keep you? Do you?”

Dick shakes his head, unprepared for this angry rant. He knows Knuckles is one of the biggest supporters of Mar’s anti-Conservative campaign, but Knuckles rarely says anything when they’re all together. Marlon’s hatred of Conservatives is based on politics, while Knuckles’ current rant has a completely different angle.

“They should have taken you and gone to any big pack in the city. They even could have gone to the Williamses. They should have walked right up to the core home as close as they could get before being intercepted by guards. Then they should have asked the pack to adopt you. Just straight up said, we want the best for our son. We had to make the hard decision to give him up so his siblings can survive. Will you take him? The answer would have been ‘Yes’. We, the Hales, Williamses, Jayhawks, Swifts, Chakyars or any other big pack wouldn’t even have blinked before accepting you. A smaller successful pack would have wanted to say yes, and if they couldn’t, they’d have told your parents of a pack that could. If your parents said, ‘Oh, by the way, we left him unattended too long so he taught himself how to read and learned a few other languages while he was at it’, they could have had us fighting over you. Seriously. But Conservatives would rather see their kits die than become Packrunners. I hope they all burn.”

“If packs are so eager to adopt, why don’t you take in more orphans off the streets?” Dick asks skeptically.

“Because there are too many of them, turd-head. You can’t save everyone so we harden our hearts to the sheer mass of kits in need. But it happens. If we’re asked, or if a kit chooses us. Even Marcel who’s one of the most callous Alphas in our pack, reacted as you did to the kittens. My older brother Karim walked up to Marcel when Karim was only 4, and reached up to Marcel the way kits do when they want to be picked up. So Marcel picked him up, and Karim wrapped his arms around his neck and called him daddy. Marcel went ‘Whelp, guess I’m a dad now’. We never found out what happened to Karim’s real parents or even what his designation was prior to coming to us. It doesn’t matter. Any prosperous pack can provide for many more members than they already have. We might not take in an adult, but a small kit? No problem. So if your parents had simply asked us…” Knuckles growls in frustration.

“You’re forgetting that I’ve been scentless since birth. I would have been a waste of your resources,” Dick points out.

Knuckles shakes his head. “No pack member is a waste of resources. No kit is a waste of resources. The moment you were adopted, you’d have been considered one of the pack’s most treasured members, like all kits. Not that it matters now. So why are you here? Don’t you have to work or something?” Knuckles asks as if he just remembered he’s not supposed to want company.

“I’m on your lunch break,” Dick answers smoothly.

“On _my_ lu―?” Knuckles cuts off with a snigger.

“Laurent told me that if you wanted to be left alone, we should respect that. Have you ever heard anything so preposterous?” Dick says with a small smirk.

Knuckles gives him an unimpressed look. “You never go chasing after Mar when he goes missing.”

Dick makes a dismissive hand gesture. “Mar’s busy. He’s trying to live five different lives at once. He’s always come and gone. But you? You’re steady as a rock in your habits. You're never gone. So naturally, I'm concerned. I don't have many friends, after all. I have to look after those I have."

Knuckles scowls. "You know that's on you, right? I was surprised when you said you’ve never had friends. But after getting to know you, I _know_ you bear guilt in your solitude. The more I thought about it, I remember seeing a few people make friendly overtures towards you when you were our neighbour. If you never had friends before, it’s because you turned them down."

There's a lot of information to unpack in that. Most prominently, the fact that Knuckles has spent time thinking about Dick, remembering details Dick himself can't remember, and jumping to conclusions a _dumb_ person wouldn't. Not to mention ‘bear guilt in your solitude’. What dumb thug says that? They stop at a crossroads to let two horse carriages and a car pass before they move on. "Ah. Nice segue into another subject, dear. I'll humour you. I'll admit, you might be right. I've been… skittish. Not always. Back when I was learning my... _ABD_ ," he gives Knuckles a playful smirk, "I would have welcomed any friendly overture. But that was before I was taken by a Snatcher. He was friendly, empathetic, warm and understanding. He hugged me, marked me up, fed me, and listened to me talk. He bundled me up in a blanket to make me warm and cozy, and there was nothing in his scent to give away his ill intentions. I fell asleep in his arms, feeling safer than I had for years, then I woke up chained to the ground beside a workstation in a large cellar with a bunch of other kits. The chain was long enough for us to reach a pallet between the workstations, and a hole in the ground where we could relieve our bowels. I managed to escape, but, ever since then, friendliness has made me wary. I haven't told you how I came to be at the Sanctuary, have I?"

Knuckles shakes his head with half a shrug. "No."

"I was being chased by three Snatchers and dove behind Joe when he was distracted. I heard the Snatchers say they’d wait outside for me when Joe wouldn't let them in. My only option was to go down the stairs in hopes of finding another way out. There, a waitress took pity on me and gave me a drink. I'd barely eaten for two weeks and the alcohol went straight to my head, making me less cautious than I normally would be. I asked Mar to carry me home, not because I couldn't walk, but because I was sure the Snatchers wouldn't try to take me if I had company."

"Huh. You should have told us. Mar was nearly grabbed by Snatchers as a kit. He hates them with a passion, so I think he would have hunted them down and killed them. And, if Mar went flying off on a hunt, you can rest assured the rest of us would have gone along with him for damage control."

"I feared you would sell me to them, dear. After all, I've witnessed Boltons do transactions with Snatchers before."

Knuckles grimaces. "That's a fair assumption from your point of view. We wouldn't, but you couldn't know that." He kicks a small stone and watches it go flying, narrowly missing the leg of another pedestrian. "Not that it's relevant, but I never did."

Dick scrutinizes him for a beat. It's very relevant, both to Dick, and to Marlon, if it's true Mar hates Snatchers. "Something’s been bothering me,” Dick says, changing the subject. “Say, why did you shave your beard?" 

Knuckles snorts. "That came out of nowhere," he says and gives Dick a dubious look. "You pissed I used your shaving gear?"

"Not at all."

Knuckles is quiet for a while. Dick starts thinking he isn’t going to answer, but after rounding a corner onto another street Knuckles speaks up. "When everyone whose opinions matter to me tell me I look like shit, I listen.”

“Why did you grow a beard in the first place?”

“What? You never did anything to piss off your parents?” Knuckles asks defensively.

“Why, yes. I was born,” Dick answers easily.

Knuckles snorts. "They did that to you, not the other way around. And just because you said that, I want to know what kind of stuff you did to be obnoxious as a kit. Every kit is a menace at one point or another. And you must have been quite a little demon if they wanted you dead. So spit it out."

Dick thinks for a bit before answering. "I was clingy, for obvious reasons... I refused to eat seafood. I hated it, and, if they tried to force me, I'd kick and claw and cry and cheep."

Knuckles throws his head back laughing. "You'd cheep?! They'd beat you if you didn't eat, or something?"

"No. To me, just trying to put food in my mouth that I didn’t want warranted a plea for mercy. If they did manage to force me to eat it, I'd throw it up because I found it so vile." 

Knuckles laughs again, and it makes Dick feel very good about himself. "What else did you do?"

"My family went down to clean themselves in the sea every day, but I refused to wash or even just rinse off since it would remove my bonds and their scent. I'd throw tantrums, and, if they tried to grab me, I'd wriggle free and make a run for it. Dad was faster than me, but he was too big to squeeze in between the stones under the pier. I'd dive in there and refuse to come out, or I'd get out on the other side and run off, forcing them to spend hours looking for me. If they managed to block the way to the pier I'd climb a lamppost instead and growl at them from up there."

Knuckles laughs again. He laughs at every new thing as Dick goes on to list his antics. Then he asks, "What obnoxious things did your kittens do?"

Dick smiles to himself, chest getting warm with nostalgia thinking about the destroyed belongings, the bites and scratches, the way they’d be all up in his face when he was trying to read, and the food they’d stolen from him despite him feeding them as best he could. “Boy, where do I start?” he says grinning.

“Yeah? And how often were you on the verge of shoving them in a burlap sack and throwing them in the ocean?” Knuckles asks. Dick sucks in a breath in offended horror and frowns deeply at Knuckles. Knuckles sniggers and taps his temple with a finger. “Think about it, Ghost Boy. Kits don’t come from the stork, you know? Your parents didn’t just step inside their home one day to find a newborn kit crying. They made a choice to have you. Their scripture says the One might bless sexual unions with a pregnancy, and that he wants the couple that bears the kit to be mated. They can't claim ignorance. And since your mom was female, they had a perfectly safe way of having sex without getting pregnant. You're listing 'clingy' as something obnoxious you did to them. That's insane. In my pack, we go to work with our kits strapped to our chests or backs, preferably inside our clothing to get skin to skin contact." Knuckles sniggers when he sees Dick's look. "If I had a kitling strapped to my chest I wouldn't go out to collect debts, but there's always work that can be done."

"Do you…?" Dick searches for the right words, trying to fit his image of Knuckles with someone who’s a caretaker of kitlings.

Knuckles forestalls him. "Do I ever care for our kitlings and kits? Of course, I do. Now I've got a couple of questions for you. It sounds like the things you fought with your parents about weren't one-time occurrences. When you had fish, was that the only thing you had for dinner?"

"No. We usually had potatoes or cabbage along with it."

"Were you as fussy about all food?"

"No. Just seafood."

"How thoroughly did they mark you up right after a bath?"

"Bathing was a morning activity. Marking, an evening activity," Dick answers and promptly sneezes when Knuckles suddenly smells too strongly of anger.

"And these weren't isolated incidents?" Knuckles asks, his face harder, but not showing his anger more than that.

"No."

"Did you ever tell your parents why you didn't want seafood and didn’t want to wash away your bonds?"

"Yes. That didn't help. A kit is supposed to obey their parents."

"The hell they are,” Knuckles growls. "Sure, there are things everyone has to do whether they want to or not, including kits. But generally speaking? No. I've never seen a spoiled kit in the slums. Among rich folks, there are kits that'll throw tantrums to get their way about everything. But among the poor? Never. They learn early on that if they don’t eat what’s served they’ll starve. So if I had a kit that ate everything except fish, and fish made them throw up and fight me with all their might, I'd think they had allergies, and I’d let them have more cabbage instead while the rest of us ate more of the fish. You also had a known handicap that meant you needed to be constantly marked up to stay happy and healthy. There was no reason to force you to wash that thoroughly every day, as long as they kept your genitals, hands, and teeth clean. You know that Conservatives are unhealthily clean for the sole purpose of minimizing bonds? That's literally it. To keep only the strongest bonds and prevent most friendship bonds from forming. They're messed up because they're raised to be. All Conservative Alphas should have their balls lopped off so they can’t have kits."

"Kits are formed in the testicles?" Dick asks perplexed and looks down between his legs before he can think better of it. Knuckles’ mean snigger makes him wince.

"We form sperm in our testicles," Knuckles tells him. "They're like microscopic tadpoles. When we orgasm inside an O, we ejaculate millions of sperm inside of her. She, in turn, has eggs inside of her." He sees Dick's expression and throws his head back laughing, anger traded for happiness in his scent. "Not like chicken eggs, moron. But the human equivalent. Like tiny balls that can merge with the sperm. So when one of the tadpoles manages to swim through the thick wall of one of the eggs, a kit can begin to form. The egg is fertilized. But it's far from a done deal. They have to enter into the uterus, a chamber inside an O that's like a hatching machine. The egg that's merged with a sperm travels down a tube into this chamber where it has to get stuck to the wall. If it fails it will travel too far down and the Os body will absorb it."

Dick's forgotten to be embarrassed by his ignorance. He's hanging on to every word. There's no reason for Knuckles to explain this. But since he is, Dick's going to listen.

"It's not easy for the fertilized egg to get stuck. It requires a certain temperature, and other conditions," Knuckles goes on.

"That's why we have Heats and Ruts?" Dick asks.

"Mhm. But we're an adaptive species. Everything may be right and we still fail to make a kitling, or we might make one by mistake, even if all the conditions are wrong. Usually, a pregnant O will lose the kit if she gets sick, poisoned, or starves during the first five months of pregnancy. If she doesn't lose the kit under those conditions, there's a risk the kit is born scentless."

"Mom was both sick and starving the greater part of her pregnancy with me," Dick says.

"There you have it. Did you know, before we present we have what it takes to develop both ways? I've had an underdeveloped uterus inside of me that my body absorbed to make me an Alpha. I think about that sometimes."

Dick narrows his eyes at Knuckles. "Have you gone to college?"

Knuckles chuckles and shakes his head. "No. We've gotten very extensive homeschooling by members who have proper schooling."

Dick ponders. "Does everyone know how kits are made?"

"No. Most know they're made by an Alpha and Omega having sex, though."

"I'd heard that. I just didn't understand how. I like it when you teach me things," Dick says. Knuckles hunches his shoulders and smiles at the pavement. If Dick hadn't been so close he probably wouldn't have heard the whispered purr of contentment. He hates how Knuckles hides his happiness. Dick decides to tell him of another unprompted lesson Knuckles had given him. "I'm very grateful for the lesson you gave me on how to boil water. But you could have warned me what happens if you turn your back for a second while boiling milk."

Knuckles eyes widen in surprise, then he cackles. 

Once Knuckles has stopped laughing, Dick grabs him by the upper arm to stop him. "Antoine. You have no idea how it pains me to admit this," Dick says seriously. "But you looked very handsome in your beard. It suited you. I find you to be a far more attractive man like this. I didn't like the beard because of the associations it brought. But you didn't look like shit. I'm certain that if you did, Mar would have let you know. Loudly." Knuckles looks confused, mouth opening and closing like he's searching for the right answer. Dick doesn't let him speak. He pushes Knuckles against the wall and starts rubbing his neck and temples against him. He clings on when Knuckles tries to pry him off. "Stop squirming, this is good for you," Dick says, quoting Knuckles all those times Knuckles has marked him up against his will.

Knuckles makes a sound of surprise and goes still. He lets himself be marked thoroughly. _Claimed_. Not that you can smell it on him. Dick's the one smelling of Bolton when he's done. Dick takes a step away. "I've done what I came to do. I'll be on my way. But I'll see you around."

"Not if I see you first," Knuckles retorts.

Dick smirks. "Good luck with that, dear," he says and turns to walk away.

* * *

Dick’s obsessing about Knuckles and he can’t tell why. Maybe it's seeing how Knuckles lies to and is picked on by his own pack, or maybe it's the definite discovery that Knuckles isn't dumb or even particularly mean when in private. So Dick stalks him. He follows Knuckles everywhere he can, even into the sewers. The Boltons have built walkways in the sewers that they keep meticulously clean so they can move around without getting dirty. And Dick discovers that they're expanding below the Swifts’ territory. He'll pop in for a chat with Knuckles now and then. Like today.

He's perched on the first story ledge pretending to be a gargoyle, listening in on a conversation a few yards away. Two Boltons are teasing Knuckles. 

"Seriously, Tony, you were doing good. I could smell sex on you almost every night. I thought you'd come home a mated man. And now, nothing," one of them says.

"Yeah. It's kinda pathetic. You've been sweet on the same girl since you were a kit and now when you’re giving it your all courting her, she fucks you a few times and decides that, ‘Ew. No’,” the other says and both laugh.

“Bet she finally realised how dumb you are. Nobody wants a dumb mate,” the first one sniggers.

Dick’s boiling. It’s a wonder he doesn’t have steam of anger coming out of his ears like a train whistle, giving up his hiding spot.

Knuckles digs his hands deep into his pockets and hunches his shoulders. “It’s not that. I’ve got competition. One of the Romans. She can’t mate into two packs.”

“So? Why don’t you just jump him in a dark alley? He can’t compete if he’s dead,” the first one says.

“Yeah. It’s perfect. And you’ll be her shoulder to cry on,” the second one agrees.

“Marty wouldn’t have let anyone steal his girl,” the first one adds.

Knuckles unfolds from his hunched state to stand straight-backed. Dick can’t see his face but the other two suddenly look alarmed and take a step back. “If Martijn so much as looked at Malicia for too long, I would have killed him,” Knuckles says darkly.

The other two back away. “Hey, we’re just joking. All fun and games, right?” one says.

“I just remembered, we have to go check on a thing.”

“Yeah, a thing. Catch you later, Tony.”

With that, they both hurriedly walk away and turn a corner.

_Aha. So that's what happened in that other time_ , Dick thinks. He's instantly confused by his own thoughts. For a second he had the feeling that this has all happened before, but without him, and that he'd never heard of Knuckles having a twin. It had been crystal clear that Martijn had taken an interest in Mal and that Knuckles killed the brother he loved to protect her. Now, two seconds later, the thoughts seem like some strange hallucination that felt eerily real. It makes Dick's heart race in fright. He tries to shake the feeling to focus on reality and Knuckles.

Knuckles turns and starts walking in Dick's direction. When he's just below Dick's perch Dick says, "You know, I've been thinking…"

Knuckles lets out a terrified " _Eeek!_ " and throws himself away from Dick, flaring and dropping fangs, wildly looking around until he lifts his gaze to spot Dick. His scent stings with anger. "Darn it! Don't scare me like that! I could have hurt you! What are you doing here?"

"I came to visit you, naturally," Dick answers, barely managing to keep a straight. It would be rude to laugh at Knuckles’ fearful reaction.

Knuckles glares at him. "You shouldn't have come," he says and starts walking again.

Dick rises and walks alongside but above him on the ledge. "Perhaps. But I did. Say, you _do_ know Mal wouldn't be happy as a Bolton?"

Knuckles grunts. "I used to think she could be. But I realized it wouldn't work. Things have changed. If I mated her, I'd have to push her away for her own good, and that would be worse than not mating her in the first place. She's better off with you. Is that what you came to hear?" he says grumpily.

"Hardly. Why would I need you to tell me what I already know?"

Knuckles gives him a resentful look then hunches his shoulders.

Dick takes a step to the side to land gracefully beside Knuckles. "You know my plans. I'm saving up to be able to provide for Mal and Laurent. We need one more O so Mal won't have to be Main."

"Yeah, I know. So?"

"But I've been thinking. A pack should have more Alphas than Omegas, if I’ve understood things correctly. Who better to join than one of Laurent's closest kithood friends?"

Knuckles expression is almost comical in how it goes from thunderous to surprised to suspicious and vulnerable, like someone who doesn't dare to hope.

Dick goes on. "It also has the advantage of Mal not having to choose between two men she loves. She'd be free to mate us both without complications."

Knuckles looks at his feet as they walk, jaw muscles clenching. "It's no use, Richard. I know my role in any story. I'm not the protagonist. I'm not even a supporting character. I'm the dumb grunt who exists solely make the hero shine brighter in contrast. Unlike the main villain, I'm not allowed to have a personality or a tragic backstory. I exist only to die at the hands of the hero, or I’m the cause of the _hero’s_ tragic backstory. Don't try to make a dreamer out of me. You'll just make this harder."

At first, Dick thinks it's awful that anyone would see themselves in that role. Isn't everyone supposed to be the hero of their own story? Then Dick's struck by what Knuckles just said for another reason entirely. How many stories do you have to read before you start thinking about your own life in the structure of one? For someone who claims to only be able to read a little, Knuckles sure has a wide vocabulary that he not only understands, but is familiar enough with to use in daily speech.

Dick thinks that he might need to help change Knuckles’ view of himself if he’s going to manage to convince him to leave his pack. Maybe if he understands what impact he has on Dick’s life, it’ll be easier? "Lately...every night before I go to bed…" he begins haltingly. "I remove all my clothes. I fold them neatly and put them on a shelf. Then I cross the room completely naked. My heart starts racing, and I'm sweating by the time I reach my nest. Then I lie down on top of the blankets and take a moment to look down at my body to familiarise myself with how I look naked before I cover myself with blankets."

Knuckles nods sharply in approval. "It's good. You should face your fears."

Dick scoffs. "My fears are slavery and death. Rest assured that if any of those two try to face me, I'm running full speed in the opposite direction," he deadpans.

Knuckles sniggers.

Dick goes on. "I'm terrified of death. Even when I can't get warm, when my body temperature is so low it hurts my joints to move. Even when my heart slows down and the only way I can get it to beat faster than a few beats per minute is to run or climb. Even when I forget to breathe for so long I can feel myself fading. Even when I space out watching the sunrise, and when I snap back I see the sun has somehow moved backwards, and I realize I've lost a full day to the abyss." As Dick talks, Knuckles start smelling of anxiety and fear. Dick goes on as if he doesn't notice. "Even in the midst of the darkest times, when my own thoughts turn cold and hostile, attacking me, whispering that there's no hope. Things can only get worse, I'm worthless and unlovable, a waste of space and resources. Even when I was caught under the pier after the tidal wave, with broken bones, concussed, cold, unable to move, forced to eat nothing but the rotting fish the current brought to me. If there's one thing I've always been certain of, it's that I want to keep on living. It doesn't matter if it gets worse. I don't want to die."

"Does… does that happen often? Those things?"

"Not as often as it used to. I’m often haunted by thoughts of hopelessness, but having a safe home and friends help a lot. And Mercy helps me mark up my apartment every time he collects the rent.”

Knuckles suddenly stops dead and turns towards Dick. “Where are your bonds?” he demands to know. “Why have they faded?” He doesn’t give Dick a chance to come up with a lie before he slams Dick against a wall and starts marking him up. Dick goes with it and marks Knuckles right back. He used to think it was a useless endeavour when he was a kit, but people's fear of bonding with him made him understand that his markings are like writing with invisible ink. The text is still there. When they've finished marking each other they start walking again as if they haven't just marked each other desperately enough to reignite Dick's friendship bond in a single session. Both look dishevelled from the intensity of what they did.

"When you're not around, there's nobody being mean to me. Nobody to make cruel jokes and remarks at other people's expense," Dick says. "There's a certain silence left in your wake."

Knuckles grunts and gives him a disdainful look. "Then why are you here bothering me?"

"I have to. This story has an ensemble cast, dear. And you know what I hear in the absence of your commentary at the Sanctuary? What fills the silence in your wake?"

"No," Knuckles gruffs.

Dick makes a sound in his breastbone tract. It's a pack distress call that's never before echoed between the buildings in the city: The Red Romans' distress call. Dick can't explain what makes a pack call unique. He knows that anyone born into a pack will instinctively produce their pack's call without ever having heard it before, just like he's making his own call now. Someone who has changed packs will recognise their new call the first time they hear it, but they need to hear it to make it themselves.

Knuckles misses a step and comes to a stumbling halt, staring at Dick with clear distress in his eyes. "Don't make this so hard," he begs.

Dick stops calling. "Dear, I just want you to come home. That’s all. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go." He takes one of Knuckles' hands and kisses the back of it, then turns and walks away. Before he turns a corner, he looks back to find Knuckles standing where Dick left him, gaze still locked on Dick.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment. :) Any thoughts or questions? I want to know!
> 
> Also, the next chapter is an unusually short one but I'm really excited about it since it intercepts with Marlon's story and Packrunner-canon. :D


	11. The Backstreet Ambush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick's feeling lonely and spies on the craftsman pack living below him. He witnesses something that terrifies him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Technically, I should save this chapter a little longer so you don't have to wait quite as long for the next one. But I'm much too excited to wait! :D
> 
> There's something in this chapter you will have no chance of understanding if you haven't read Marlon's story. But I'm guessing that if you're reading this particular story you've read Marlon's story as well. :)

* * *

Dick’s feeling lonely. He loves his little apartment, but it would be much better if he could share it with someone. It’s evening and the last Hale patrol has made its round in the area. Nothing ever happens around here this time at night. The Hales on night watch are spread out in other areas where people are still out and about. If they were around, he’d have gone out to keep them company for a while. Now he does what he always does when he’s feeling lonely. He opens the door to the storage room and lies down on the floor as quietly as he can to peek through the knothole at the pack living below him. Usually, at this time, he’d only see a few of them sleeping in the big room where most of them work, but tonight all the lights are lit and the whole pack seems to be in there, awake and gathered around a stranger in fancy clothing. He’s standing right under the hole Dick’s peeking through. Dick doesn’t recognise him which means he’s a guest. That’s a major occurrence in any pack. When the stranger moves Dick can see a silver star glitter on the lapel of his coat. Dick strains to hear what they’re saying.

"It's important that all of your pack members participate," the stranger says.

"But surely, the kits―" the Main says, but the stranger interrupts her.

"The kits too. That's the deal. My employer insists. This is an all or nothing type of deal. You'll be richly rewarded, like we agreed. As a token of good faith, I brought you these knives." The stranger takes two magnificent knives from under his coat and hands them to the Main. "The Boltons will come from the west side, and my employer will send his troops from the east. It's important that you set the plan in motion at exactly 4:30 AM tonight or the plan will fail. The Hales will be eradicated. Recount the plan to me so I can be sure you've got everything right."

Dick listens with his heart lodged in his throat, his mouth so dry his tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth. They're planning an ambush to wipe out the Hales. According to the stranger, the Boltons will participate. It doesn't line up with the activity Dick's seen the last couple of days. But even without backup, the pack below will kill a lot of Hales. The Hales won't be able to come en masse, spread out as they are, they'll come a few at a time and be killed. The timing and location of the attack will see to that.

Dick sneaks back into his main room, closes the door, climbs out of the window and starts running.

He's too panicked to think clearly. If there was a patrolling Hale around he'd have gone to them, but now, instead of heading for the closest Hale he can find, he heads arrow-straight for the Sanctuary. He barely registers the rooftop sprint or the insane jumps. He gets there at record-breaking speed. "Joe! The pack in my building is being paid by a Conservative to ambush the Hales tonight at 4:30 on my street!" Dick says while running past the huge bouncer. He doesn't stop to answer questions or listen to answers.

He spots Marlon by the bar as soon as he gets down the stairs. In the weeks since Dick last saw him, Marlon's changed. He's lost weight and cut his hair in a short and proper style so it seems darker, his clothes aren't as flamboyant, and his demeanor has gone from thuggish to the straight-back sharpness of a military officer. Dick heads straight for him. "Marlon! Mar!" Marlon turns around with a curious expression when Dick calls for him, just in time to stagger as Dick throws his arms around him and jumps up to wrap his legs around his waist so they'll be eye to eye. Marlon looks alarmed, pulling a knife instead of clawing―which is odd, but Dick doesn't dwell on it―but he relaxes when Dick says, "Thank gods, you're here, Mar! The pack in my building is planning an ambush on the Hales tonight at 4:30 on our street! Many Hales are going to die we need to warn them and help them but they don't have patrols around and― _mmbf!_ " The words tumble out of Dick in one long stream until Mar puts his hand over Dick's mouth, silencing him.

"Calm down and breathe. Of course, we'll help. But I need you to calm down and try to tell me exactly what you know with as much detail as you can. We've got almost two hours to prepare ourselves. Take a few deep breaths to calm down and try again," Mar says before removing his hand. 

The bartender gestures for the nearby staff to come then leans on the bar to listen in with a serious expression. She isn’t a Hale, but has several friendship bonds to Hales.

Dick tries to calm down. He can barely breathe from the exertion of the sprint, but his body's still in a state of alarm, telling him there's still an imminent danger. Mar wraps an arm around him to support him and strokes soothingly over his back. His hand goes over the knob of Dick's spine―which is odd, since he hasn't touched Dick there since the first time they cuddled and Dick nearly bit him―sending a surprising jolt of pleasure through Dick's body. Dick gasps and Mar withdraws his hand to look at it, rubbing the secretion from Dick's gland between his thumb and forefinger. He looks back at Dick. "Alright, Baby, what did you hear?" he asks.

Dick doesn’t react to the strangeness of Marlon using a Prog pet name. "I was spying on the pack below me like I do when I feel lonely at night. Usually, they're asleep, but tonight they were all awake and gathered around a guest. He was dressed in expensive clothes and wore a silver pin of the star. He…" Dick recounts what he heard while serving staff gather around. Two of them are even Hales, which is good. “...said the Boltons would come from the west, but I think that’s a blatant lie. There are no sewer lids in convenient places near our street and if the Boltons were planning an attack on the Hales they wouldn’t have been expanding under the Swifts.”

“Sewer lids?” Marlon asks in confusion. “Why would that matter?”

“The Boltons use the sewers like the Hales use the roofs. They make clean walkways to move around without too much stink getting on them. Recently they’ve expanded under the Swifts' territory so if they’re going to attack anyone, it’s going to be the Swifts. It also doesn’t make any sense that the Boltons would come from the west above ground because they’d have to cross the most heavily patrolled Hale territory.”

“ _Fuck!_ ” 

The foreign expletive is so odd, coming from Mar, that Dick actually halts for a moment to frown in confusion at Mar. Mar looks older and even more handsome than usual. His eyes are serious in a way that hints at him having lived through horrible things since Dick last saw him. He's lost so much weight everything about him is hard to the touch with no fat covering his muscles.

“Sorry, Baby, go on,” Mar urges.

Dick remembers the urgency after the prompting and goes on, recounting the rest of the plan. He’s almost detailed everything when he remembers Mercy will be part of the patrol shift first to encounter the ambush, then he’s struck by the realisation that the Main had said they’d send a kit as a lure and that she would pretend to be in distress. There’s only one female kit in the pack and that’s Kip. “...and then they’ll― Oh no! Mercy! Kip!” He lets go and drops down from Mar then takes off running towards the exit like his back is on fire.

“Hey, babe, come back here!” Marlon calls after him. But Dick’s too panicked to think clearly. All he knows is he has to find Mercy.

* * *

Most of what happens next is only retold to Dick. He finds Mercy and finds out that he’s already been warned. The Hales have turned the tables, setting up a trap for the pack that chose to betray them. Dick gets to be part of that trap. When Kip comes running to lure the Hale patrol to the ambush, Dick captures her and hands her to the Hales since they’d promised him none of the kits would be harmed if they could be captured. After that, Dick finally feels his exhaustion. He curls up behind a chimney and falls asleep, safely away from the fighting. He’s told afterwards that three Williamses, Marlon, Aiden, and someone else Dick’s never met, participated in what turned out to be a slaughter. All three kits were captured and adopted into the Hales. He’s told he won’t see any of them for a couple of months while their new pack bonds settle, but that’s alright as long as Kip’s safe.

Going home the next day is a nightmare. The whole street stinks of blood, feces, and urine. There are puddles of blood, and Dick spots two fingers lying on the ground, that the Pyre wagon missed.

He’s always considered his apartment well-isolated from sounds, only the storage room noisy. But now, the silence is thunderous. There are small sounds a house makes when people are living in it - water rushing through pipes, thumps, creaks and scrapes, that just aren’t there anymore.

After that, Dick makes stalking Knuckles his full-time gig.

* * *

He barely goes home at all. The Bolton home is a big building that used to be a factory. It's surrounded by empty lots where houses have been torn down to build new ones, but a lack of funding stopped the construction before it began. There's even a huge, abandoned crane left. It’s difficult to get close to the building without being spotted, but in the darkness, Dick has no problem getting to the crane. He climbs up on it, makes his way to the thick chain and climbs down to sit in the bend of the gigantic hook at the end of it. The chain and hook are so heavy Dick’s weight barely makes it sway. From the hook, Dick has a perfect view into every floor of the repurposed factory through the large, arched windows. He sees the great hall where the Boltons practise fighting, and discovers that several pack members hesitate to go up against Knuckles. He sees the long table where the pack eats their meals, and sees Knuckles sit with hunched shoulders, making himself smaller, body language telling Dick that he’s frequently picked on and does nothing to make it stop. He sees the great room with several huge beds where most of the pack sleeps, many pack members in each bed, and, as Knuckles said, they’re naked. He sees Knuckles sneak out of bed to disappear out of view, only to open the hatch to the roof. With a vigilant look down where he came from, Knuckles gets out on the roof closing the hatch after himself, then crawls with clear discomfort to the broad chimney. There, he opens the lid of a box hidden behind the chimney and takes out a book. He curls up, leaning against the chimney and reads in the light of his flare.

He sees Knuckles play the guitar and sing in the common hall, and, when he does, his pack is smiling, dancing, and looking like they’ve forgotten they’re supposed to be picking on him. Dick wishes he could hear Knuckles. But maybe he can? All the rooms Dick can see through the large windows have high ceilings with steel beams crisscrossing under the ceiling. Once, when the building was still a factory, those beams might have filled a function to keep machinery in place. But now, might they provide hiding spots for a ghostly demon?

The first time Dick breaks into the Bolton home, he’s terrified. There aren’t any convenient, broad ledges for oversized gargoyles, but the brickwork, window sills, and other details on the house facade provide enough handholds for Dick to make his way to the roof. The hatch Knuckles has used isn’t locked and leads to an attic that smells mostly of dust and Knuckles, telling Dick that Knuckles is the only one to come up here. Once he gets down further he discovers that all the big halls aren’t separated by walls that go up all the way to the ceiling, but only up to the steel rafters. And all the light fixtures are mounted from the beams. So once he’s on a floor he can move fairly freely in the shadows above the light. Getting between floors is the risky part. But once Dick’s hidden above the common hall and hears Knuckles sing, it’s worth it. Knuckles has a deep and gritty voice and he plays music Dick’s never heard before. Dick has one of those odd thoughts that Knuckles is at least 40 years before his time, playing music like this. Dick somehow knows it deep in his soul. It’s the same kind of feeling as he had about the pomegranates when he hadn’t eaten them and still knew what they tasted like. Maybe that thought should have made Dick uncomfortable if he wasn’t so busy falling in love with the person Knuckles is working so hard to conceal under all his lies.

Dick has to get him back, somehow.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you see it? Did you get it? Did you get why *Marlon* was acting out of character? When did you catch on? :DDD
> 
> If you still have no idea what I'm talking about I'll tell you in the next chapter's author's note. ^^


	12. The Patriarch of The Red Romans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick has a plan. His plan is that Mal shouldn't have to choose between him and Knuckles. He doesn't think much further than that...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A nice long chapter that should keep you busy for a while. Probably getting upset that they're too damned respectful towards each other, to be honest...

* * *

Knuckles is whittling, hidden away in the darkness on the bay with his booze. Dick stoops down to pick up a wood shaving and holds it up to inspect it. “You’re a man of many talents, Antoine, but woodworking isn’t one of them.”

Knuckles jerks so hard he falls off his crate. “Damn it! How many times do I have to tell you not to sneak up on me, dickhead? One of these days I’ll end up hurting you!” He scolds when he sits back up, the scent of sudden fear replaced by spiky anger.

“Mmh. I will concede to the point that you stand the chance of hurting me, but not that you’ll do it by mistake, dear,” Dick says and tosses the wood chip away from himself. Knuckles gives him a dark look that, Dick has learned, also holds some hurt. “With your profession, you might end up getting killed. And that, my dear, would hurt me something awful,” he adds.

A flicker of surprise, then Knuckles shutters down the grumpy mask again. “Go away, Richard.”

“I can’t do that. I’ve been told a man should never drink alone. I’m not sure why. Perhaps it has something to do with falling asleep on one's back while throwing up.” Dick smirks when he coaxes a snigger out of Knuckles. “Either way,” he goes on. “I brought more booze as a bribe, in case you’d try to chase me off. A futile endeavour, I might add. So you might as well capitulate.”

Knuckles relaxes somewhat and chuckles. “Yeah, yeah. Stay if you want. It’s a free country.”

“It’s really, _really_ not,” Dick counters and goes to sit on the ground between Knuckles’ knees. “Say, there’s one thing that’s confusing me…”

“Only one?” Knuckles jokes with a skeptical tone and hands Dick his bottle of booze even though Dick brought his own.

Dick takes a swig and hands it back. “You got me, dear. A lot of things confuse me. But… You’re bottom rung in your pack.”

“More or less. So?”

“Laurent said your pack is different because you settle rank solely through violence.”

“Yeah, so? I told you, our pack god is Maluk. He demands it.”

“I don’t doubt that. But when you get angry, your packmates back off in fear. Many of them even fear to spar with you. Why are you bottom rung?”

“How do you even know this crap?” Knuckles asks with a scowl and takes a swig of his booze.

“I’m a ghost. I can see through walls. Now answer the question,” Dick answers, smirking up at Knuckles playfully.

“It’s simple. I don’t like hurting my packmates and friends. Imagine if you had to fight Mal or Laurent.”

“I’d say that’s comparing apples to oranges. I’ve seen how your pack treats you. You’re bullied by them.”

“Not all of them,” Knuckles grumps, which is more of an agreement than Dick thought he’d ever get. Knuckles runs a hand through his hair in frustration. “Fine. Imagine… that Mal loves me. And you’d have to fight me. The fight will be brutal. To win, you’d have to hurt me real bad. It would hurt Mal to see that happen. It’s like that.”

“I see. I’d say it’s still comparing apples to oranges. You’re working under the assumption that I wish you harm, and that I don’t love you like the rest of our pack, and, therefore, only would care for Mal’s feelings. But I follow your reasoning.”

Knuckles grunts in annoyance. “Why have you forgiven me? I’ve done exactly nothing to deserve it. Saving your life doesn’t count. It wasn’t an act of self-sacrifice to turn a sleeping drunk on his side. And defending you against Aiden when he was perving on you doesn’t count either. Anyone who witnessed it knowing you’re a Juvie would have done the same. And I mean anyone. Even Marcel would have rushed to defend a minor from sexual advances. He might still have killed you for sport at another time, but that’s another matter.”

Dick hums thoughtfully and wraps an arm around Knuckles’ leg, resting his cheek against Knuckles’ knee. “I think… I think it was the realisation that you saw yourself as my friend, even when I didn’t offer the same courtesy back. I kept thinking about the night you predicted I would die when I present. I’ve thought about it a lot. Then I thought about other things you’ve said and done, but this time I didn’t take into account your tone of voice or the demeaning nicknames you tag onto your sentences to convince the audience you’re a dick. What I came up with was genuine care, and a mindset more like the rest of us than what I’d expect to find in the Bolton pack.”

“None of that makes up for the cruelty we put you through when you lived in the Arch.”

Dick turns around and climbs up to straddle Knuckles despite his sputtered protests. “Antoine, dear, for someone who’s trying to convince me I deserved my parents’ love despite having done nothing to earn it, you’re not presenting a strong case.”

Knuckles stills and stares into Dick’s eyes for so long that Dick starts to feel flustered. Then Knuckles takes another swig of booze. “You stupid, turd-headed moron,” he says with a sneer. “You let your bonds fade again.” He puts down the bottle and pulls Dick closer to mark him up. And that’s it, really. An action of great care wrapped in fake scorn and name-calling. A great contrast to Dick’s parents who said caring things, but let his bonds fade so he wouldn’t burden them anymore.

The marking isn't as rushed as the last time. They rub temples and necks against each other. It's thorough, and Dick feels very cared for. Knuckles leans their foreheads together and closes his eyes. "Are you gonna explain this tragedy?" he says, and lifts his hand to tug lightly on Dick's unkempt beard.

"I haven't been at home lately, and I no longer carry my shaving gear on me like I did when I was homeless." It’s a better explanation than that he’s been sleeping in the Boltons’ attic and spent every waking minute stalking Knuckles or his pack.

"It looks ridiculous."

Dick grins. "I know. And it itches like crazy."

Knuckles huffs. "It's grown very fast... Did you ask Laurent to check if you've presented? Did he tell you if you're an O?"

"No. He hasn't told me I'm an Omega," Dick lies truthfully. He hasn't asked. He’s convinced he isn’t.

Knuckles grunts. "It would be better for you if you were," he mutters, then leans away and picks up the bottle to drink and share with Dick.

After they've both taken a drink, Dick starts talking for the sake of talking. "You'd think I hate everything connected to my parents, but I don't. They gave me music, and I treasure every memory I have with my family and music. Mom danced like a goddess, and all of us would sing. When I was alone with my siblings, we'd make up songs as we went. My brother and I would compete in who was the best dancer. I've kept dancing, but I stopped singing once my brother died."

"Yeah? You can sing?" Knuckles asks curiously.

"I doubt it. It's been over a decade since last time."

"You remember any of the songs you used to sing?"

"Dear me, no. Not those I sang with my siblings. But I do remember one that my parents taught me. You want me to sing it to you? I can't promise it'll sound good."

"Sing it anyway."

So Dick does. It's an old, sorrowful ballad in Irish Gaelic. It's best sung in the high soprano Dick had as a kit, not the much lower range his voice has today. His voice wavers a bit, trying to find the right tone. His voice breaks when he goes to the falsetto. He can feel his cheeks heat up in embarrassment. He clears his throat. "Sorry."

"You’re out of practise. Try again," Knuckles demands. 

Dick takes a deep breath and starts over in a lower pitch. This time he gets it right. He manages to hit the high note without a problem. It doesn't sound awful. But his confidence wavers. He nearly stops singing when Knuckles lowers his eyelids half-mast, lip pulling up in a lopsided smirk that shows a pointy canine. He looks mocking. But when Dick draws breath to sing the next line, he hears it, the whispered purr of contentment. Knuckles isn’t mocking, he’s enjoying himself. Whether it be the song itself or because Dick’s singing to _him_ , Dick can’t say, but it lends him the confidence to try a little harder. His voice, much darker now than as a little boy, still has a clarity to it that fits the song. He manages to sing the whole song, sounding pretty decent for someone who hasn’t sung a note in a decade.

“Not bad,” Knuckles says when Dick falls silent. “With some practise, you could become really good.”

Dick preens, blushing under the praise of such an accomplished singer. “Thank you.”

“You play any instrument?”

Dick shakes his head. “I prefer to dance, so I never tapped into the vast knowledge my parents had in that department.”

“Yeah? I was born with two left feet. When I dance, I try too hard and lose touch with the music. It all becomes mechanical. I hate it. Makes me feel like a bumbling fool. You, Mal and Mar, you look like music come to life when you dance,” Knuckles says. He’s relaxed and still whispering his content purr.

“I _feel_ like music when I dance. Do you remember the old man who lived…” Dick launches into a story about an old man that lived on Boltons’ territory close to the Perlino Arch. Knuckles remembers the guy and has a good laugh about the story, and then counters with a story of his own memory of Dick stealing a red scarf from a woman washing clothes, confusing her by returning it the next time she did the laundry. (The scarf smelled good and Dick returned it because the scent faded.) They keep passing the bottle of booze between each other, sharing memories and laughing. Dick’s loudly purring his happiness to be right where he is. There’s something wonderful about overlapping memories from different points of view, even if they weren’t conventionally shared. Dick feels like he wasn't alone in those moments. Like he had a friend back then already, he just didn’t know it. And suddenly, not even the bad memories feel all that bad. “I remember Martijn’s expression the first time you had me cornered and I realised I was caught. His eyes got big as saucers when I pounced. It looked like he didn’t understand what was happening,” Dick sniggers.

Knuckles looks surprised for a beat, then he too sniggers. “You nearly took his eye out. He got so scared. I wanted to smack him when he did the pack distress call. I mean, man the hell up! If you want to eat a little bird, you have to be able to handle the feathers. But I wasn’t that cocky anymore after I went in for a close encounter myself. Your claws are wicked sharp,” he chuckles and pulls down his collar to touch the top of jagged scars over his pectoral.

“Those are mine? Oh dear. I’m feeling rather proud of myself,” Dick purrs, making Knuckles laugh.

“You should be, little bird. You were a complete hellion. I remember when we finally got you on the ground. I was sitting on top of you trying to get the right aim for my punch, while Karim was yelling for me to end you, but you were so damn squirmy. I wanted to hit here,” Knuckles touches a point on Dick’s forehead, “or here,” he touches another spot. “If I did, I’d knock you out, but if I hit here or here,” he touches the temple and another spot on the forehead, “I might have killed you or caused lasting damages. I got so frustrated, I told you to hold still, as if that would have worked.”

Dick remembers that. The frustrated ‘Hold still, damnit!’ was the last thing he heard before Knuckles knocked him out. “That’s why you were holding off hitting? I thought you were _trying_ to kill me, wanting the aim just right,” Dick says and finds himself laughing loudly, feeling liberated. Today, he believes Knuckles. If Knuckles had told him this soon after they got to know each other at the Sanctuary, Dick would have taken him for a liar. But it adds up. This is the guy Laurent calls one of his closest friends, that Mal gladly would have mated if it wasn’t for his pack.

Knuckles grins and shakes his head. “Dealing with Marty’s whims was like dealing with Mar. It was all about damage control. The difference is that Marty was a coward whereas Mar has no sense of self-preservation. Or any type of preservation for that matter.”

They both laugh at that. And it's okay. It's almost strange how happy Dick is sitting here joking about his own misfortune with one of the lead causes of such misfortune when it happened, but he is.

Knuckles throws a look at the big clocktower on the other side of the bay. "It's getting late. I should be going home…"

It's time to put his plan in motion. Dick's been drinking tiny sips while Knuckles has imbibed a lot more. But Dick's been trying to hide how little he's drunk in comparison. "So soon? Very well. Then I should get going too. I can't wait to get rid of the abomination on my face when I wake up tomorrow." He gets up from Knuckles' lap and purposely tips to the side and topples over. It's a bit scary not to control his fall, but it's not as painful as he expected it to be. He laughs and enjoys Knuckles laughing along with him. "Oh dear," he mutters and gets up unsteadily. He starts walking, making sure he leans to one side, sidestepping as if his head is too heavy for his body. Again, he falls, but catches himself this time. As Dick puts on his best performance of someone too drunk to walk, Knuckles laughs so hard Dick can smell the salt in his tears. Dick resorts to crawling vaguely in the direction of his home.

Laughing, Knuckles gets to his feet and comes to scoop Dick up onto his back. "You damn moron. You have no drinking sense whatsoever. None. Damn dickhead," he chuckles. "You planning to crawl all the way to your apartment? I don't think so, turd-head."

When Dick asked Mar to carry him that first time, Knuckles had made some skeptical comment about it. Today Dick's sure that even back then, if Dick had asked Knuckles instead, Knuckles would've done it too, but with much mocking and scolding name-calling to cover up the fact that he's a decent human being. 

Dick giggles continuously as Knuckles goes on to confirm that assessment. "Useless twerp. How many times have I told you not to drink so damn much, dickhead?" Knuckles scolds, his shoulders shaking with withheld laughter.

Dick latches onto Knuckles, legs around his midriff and arms around his neck, burrowing his nose in Knuckles' hair and purring. "Maybe I just like to be carried by big, strong Alphas while I soak in their wonderful scent and warmth to make up for what my parents denied me?" he says slyly.

Knuckles laughs out loud. "You know what? I believe that, you scheming little ghost bird," he says, but doesn't put Dick down.

Dick loves him.

* * *

Knuckles puts Dick down by the drainpipe on Dick's building. He scents the air with mounting anxiety. "What happened here?" he asks. "It reeks of blood."

Dick doesn't think so. The scent is faded in comparison to what it was like before, but there are still dark stains from all the blood. "Oh, you mean the slaughter?" he says nonchalantly. "The pack that used to live here got paid by a Conservative to ambush the Hales. The Conservative claimed that you'd come to their defence." He huffs in amusement. "Preposterous." He makes a dismissive gesture. "We set a trap for the pack that they triggered when they attacked us."

Knuckles smells afraid. "Mal and Laurent―?"

"They're fine. The Hales only had minor cuts and scrapes. The other pack was eradicated. Kip and the other kits are Hales now."

Knuckles is quiet for a while, looking around, nostrils flaring as he scents. He's shaken and unable to hide it. No wonder, since this is what might happen to the Boltons if they go through with their plans to attack the Swifts. His face hardens and his voice drips of venom when he speaks. "I _hate_ Conservatives! They shouldn't meddle with pack business. Everything was fine before they got involved."

Dick makes a note of the phrasing and wonders if he's talking about the Boltons. "Agreed."

Knuckles grunts. "Will you be alright if I leave you here?"

No. No, that isn't the plan. "I'll be fine, dear." He leans in to give Knuckles an affectionate temple rub. "I'll see you around," he says, then turns around and scurries up the drainpipe. Once he's up there he makes a show of almost losing his balance. He hears vivid curses from below (if he hadn't, he would’ve made a sound of distress to get Knuckles' attention), then the sound of someone heavy climbing up. He sits down by his window, takes his key from his pocket and pretends to be unable to fit it in the lock. 

Soon Knuckles has made it to the roof and crawls over to snatch Dick's keys from his hand. "Gimme that, you dumb drunk,” he says and swiftly unlocks Dick’s window.

Once the window is open, Dick squeezes past Knuckles, twists around and grabs Knuckles’ leather jacket by the lapels, then, using his legs like a spring pushing off, he pulls the unprepared Alpha into his room. Knuckles yelps as they fall inward and land (rather painfully, in Dick’s case) in a heap on the floor, Knuckles on top of Dick. Dick laughs, wheezing from the heavy weight on top of him.

“Ow! Damnit! Are you alright?” Knuckles asks, rolling off Dick with a heavy thud and fingering his lip where he hit the top of Dick’s head in the landing. It’s swelling, but he doesn’t smell too much of pain.

“I’m fine, dear,” Dick assures him, still laughing, and gets to his feet to go close and lock the window. Knuckles watches him from the floor when he goes to get a blanket. Dick crouches down beside Knuckles and resolutely rubs the blanket over Knuckles’ face and throat. Knuckles sputters and swats at the blanket to get it off his face. Dick stands up and brings the blanket back to his nest, then comes back with a pillow to repeat the process. Knuckles sputters again but doesn’t protest as loudly. Dick goes to leave the pillow in the nest. 

When he looks back, Knuckles lies frowning with closed eyes, one leg halfway up the wall beside the window and the other bent to the side. Dick smirks and goes to fetch one of his new pots then squats down by Knuckles’ head and, careful not to accidentally hit him, rubs the pot against Knuckles’ temple. Knuckles eyes fly open. “Wha―!? _A pot?_ ” Knuckles asks in bewilderment, then bursts out laughing so hard he’s practically howling.

Dick grins, shoulders jumping in silent laughter. “I figured I should take advantage of your presence and mark everything in the apartment. Or… you can stay the night and voluntarily do it yourself tomorrow?” he suggests slyly when Knuckles has almost regained composure.

“Yes, dummy. I _can’t_ leave. You locked the damn window!” Knuckles says scowling and gestures annoyedly at the window with one hand, smelling happy and the dimple in his cheek visible like when he’s trying not to smile.

Dick turns to look at the window with a troubled frown. He crosses one arm over his chest, rests his other elbow on it and strokes his beard. “Ah, yes. What to do? The thing that has thwarted humanity since its invention. The most unbreachable obstacle imaginable. _Glass_.”

Knucklas bursts out laughing again. Dick laughs with him, purring an all-is-well.

“I’m sleeping in the nude,” Knuckles says with a smirk and raises an eyebrow challengingly at Dick when he’s regained composure.

Dick lowers his head, hunches his shoulder and rubs his hands together like a classic villain in a street show. He flares and smiles evilly. “Yes...It’s all coming together…”

Knuckles laughs, chirps delightedly and gets up. He shakes his head with a smile. “You’re crazy. I swear, you’re nothing but trouble.” With that, he shakes off his jacket and hangs it over the chair, then quickly gets out of his clothes, dropping them where he stands. Dick looks everywhere but at him. Knuckles goes halfway to the nest, stops, looks back at his clothes then at the shelves on the wall, then turns back to scoop up his clothes and shove them onto a free space on a shelf. He passes by Dick and disappears into the nest behind the upturned bed-turned-wall.

Dick’s suddenly nervous. He takes a deep breath and performs his routine of undressing, folding his clothes and putting them away on a shelf, all while listening to Knuckles rummaging around in the nest. His heart’s beating furiously, and he’s starting to sweat. By the time he makes his way to the nest, he’s so covered with sweat, you can’t determine what’s sweat and what’s his glands leaking. He stops by the opening at the bottom of the bed-wall and looks at Knuckles who is busy perfecting the bed and marking up pillows. Knuckles doesn’t look up. It takes Dick nearly one long, panicky minute to realise why. “I’m very uncomfortable right now. I appreciate the respect you’re showing me by not looking, dear, but would you please look at me? I would like to be seen."

Knuckles stops what he's doing, sits back against the wall and looks at Dick with a flat expression. He really _looks_. Gaze slowly trailing down Dick’s body from left to right as if he’s reading, documenting everything. Dick's struggling to relax. He's cold all over despite sweating profusely. Suddenly Knuckles lights up and points at Dick's shoulder. "Hah! That one is mine!"

Dick turns his head to look where Knuckles is pointing. It's a scar from a nasty bite. He searches his memory and comes up with a blank. "I'll have to trust you on that, dear. I don't remember."

"I know it's mine. Look," he bounces up and comes to Dick. He bends down and opens his mouth so Dick can see he's teethed all his teeth and is in the process of dropping fangs. Knuckles points at one of his fangs. "Schee? I'sch uhn'ee'en," he says unintelligible while keeping his mouth open. Dick still understands since he can see how uneven Knuckles' bite is when he has his teeth like this. One of his fangs curves outwards slightly in an overbite and the short tooth beside it is slightly behind it. 

Dick compares it to the scar and sees it fits. "That's a surprisingly clean bite. It was very deep so I considered it bad, but, in hindsight, you could have done some serious damage if you’d torn like I do, instead of just puncturing."

"I hate using bites in combat. The taste of blood makes me queasy. It's even worse if flesh gets torn, or if I accidentally swallow blood," Knuckles admits with a smile and fingers Dick's scar. "You were such a squirmy little turd. Otherwise I would never have bitten you. I can't hecking eat for hours after I've gotten someone else's blood in my mouth in a fight."

"Really? Oh dear. I'm afraid I'm the other way around. If you lose a body part in my mouth it's coming out the other end."

"No _oo_!" Knuckles laughs, grossed out. "You can do that?"

"Can, and have," Dick admits lightly. "I wouldn't hunt another human for food, but if someone has attacked me and I happened to bite off a chunk of arm, a finger, or an ear, I've swallowed with no qualms. It has the benefits both of providing nutrition and acting as an intimidation.”

Knuckles makes a face of amused disgust and sniggers. "I told Marty that you were a weasel, not a mouse, but he didn't believe me."

"I'm not a treacherous person, I assure you," Dick responds.

"No, not like that. I mean weasel like the actual animal, not the metaphor people have connected to the word. Weasels are small, cute, cunning and absolutely fierce. And you're all those things, and fearless. Like when you challenged the Huntington Main to stop her from having sex with Mar. She's a skilled fighter, but I would still have put my money on you. I've seen you fight while cornered. You don't give up."

"I wasn't cornered." Dick had no idea he’d challenged a Main for Marlon’s chastity. Not that it would have stopped him, if he knew.

"No, but Mar was. And I could see the same determination in your eyes as when you were fighting for your life."

Dick hums and shrugs. "I'm committed to my follies."

"I've noticed," Knuckles says with a teasing smirk, and then pointedly looks down at Dick’s body, reminding him he’s naked. Deliberately. In front of someone else.

“How do…” Dick clears his throat. “How do Packrunners interact while naked?” The question is ridiculous, and Dick knows it as soon as the words are out of his mouth.

Knuckles huffs. “For starters, you can damn well look at me too. There’s nothing strange or shameful about nudity. Nor is there anything inherently sexual about nudity either.”

Dick nods and looks. He’s seen naked people, and he’s even sat beside his friends while they’ve knotted each other. But he’s never really looked beyond surreptitious glances that made him feel like he’d done something wrong. Nudity in others doesn’t bother him as long as he ignores it. It’s deliberately looking and being seen that freaks him out.

Knuckles has more scars than someone his age should have, even in the slums. He’s got a tank-like build, compact and muscled like a boxer, well-fed, hairy chest and belly with dark pubic hair nestled around his penis. Dick’s head jerks up when he realises he’s staring at the penis, cheeks heating up. “What do you see when you look at me?” he asks.

“I see you’ve grown quite a bit, and that you’ve gone from skinny to lean. I can see that you’ve survived a lot of crap because of all your scars. I knew that already, though. I also see that you’re freaking out. Aside from your blush, you’re so nervous you’re white as a sheet, and your lips are almost blue. Let’s get to bed. I’ll warm you up."

"Are there any rules for how we're allowed to touch each other when we sleep?"

Knuckles chuckles. "You mean like, don't graze butts or something? No. The rules, if you can call them that, are to respect each other and don't do things that make your bedmates uncomfortable. That goes flying out the window since you're already uncomfortable and trying to overcome that discomfort," he says and goes to lay down in the nest. He pulls a blanket over himself then holds it up invitingly and pats the empty space beside him. "Most reactions to others are scent related. So if an O in Heat grabs my dick, I'll get an erection, but if a little kit grabs it, it'll shrivel up and flee in the other direction. That's hyperbole. It won't actually retreat into my body. But you get that, right? Conservatives shame touch. 'Private parts' is a Conservative expression that's become mainstream, but we don't consider certain parts more private than other. Take the ass for example. One of my little brothers got worms, and I had him on my lap picking worms out of his butthole. It was gross, and none of us enjoyed it, but he couldn't do it himself. Kits need to be washed everywhere, and small kits and kitlings can't do it for themselves. So there are no parts that are off-limits. It’s not where you touch, but how you touch. And that's all in here," he taps his forehead. "You want a measure for what's okay? If you'd do it while we're both clothed, you can do it while we're naked."

"Okay." Dick goes to his knees and crawls into the open space beside Knuckles. Knuckles covers him before he's even properly laid down, then pulls him close, spooning him. It's nice, but Dick's tense and awkward. "I'm sweaty and gross," he mutters self-consciously.

Knuckles chuckles. "You're gross for eating stray body parts, not for panicking," he says with a smile in his voice. He yawns. "More therapy in the morning. I'm too tired for this right now," he mumbles, then puts his lips to the back of Dick's skull and starts purring soothingly.

Dick tries to relax, ridiculously aware of every point of contact, including Knuckles' limp penis grazing the top of Dick's buttock. For Knuckles, this is normal. Dick wants that too. He wants to be a real Packrunner. His parents were strict Conservatives. They weren't judgemental towards other designations or lenients, but they were by-the-book. Dick hadn't realised how much that's influenced him. He wants to change. But it's hard.

When Knuckles falls asleep, his soothing purr shifts into a loud, content all-is-well. Dick finally starts relaxing. Before he knows it, he's asleep.

He wakes up from Knuckles shaking with laughter. Confused, Dick realises that he's wrapped himself around Knuckles in his sleep, legs interwoven and chest, belly, crotch and face pressed as close as humanly possible, arms wound around Knuckles to prevent escape. "Oh dear."

"It's alright, little bird. You just keep hooking your arm over my throat so it's hard to breathe. Aside from that, you got it right. If you'd do it clothed, you can do it naked," Knuckles sniggers. "Here. Let me…" He pushes Dick to lie on his stomach, then heaves himself on top of Dick. He's heavy, but distributes his weight in a way that doesn't make it suffocating. It's comfortable. Especially when Knuckles frames his shoulders and head with his arms. It doesn't take long for either of them to fall asleep again.

It's morning when Dick wakes up again. He frees himself from the sleep-purring Alpha and goes to the roof to relieve himself. He deliberately doesn't put his clothes on. Once outside, he spots a Hale on the opposite roof. He staves off panic and raises his hand to wave. The Hale waves back, but doesn't react to Dick's nudity in any other way. Dick goes to the edge of the roof at the back of the house and pees, then slinks back in with a sense of triumph.

When Knuckles wakes up, Dick's still naked and standing by the table peeling potatoes, singing to himself. It's funny. He hasn't sung for a decade, but now music bubbles from him without a conscious thought. He knows Knuckles is awake because the sleep-purring stops.

It takes a few minutes, then Knuckles stands up and leaves the nest, smelling of faint anxiety. He goes to his jacket and digs his cigarettes out of a pocket, then goes to fetch the pot he'd used for an ashtray last time, brings the pot to the table, sits down, lights two cigarettes and hands Dick one. Then he silently smokes, watching Dick work.

"Why are you anxious? Do you want me to put clothes on?" Dick asks, cig pinched in his lips. Peeling potatoes is slow going. They get brown while they lie on the table waiting for him to finish the rest. Other people's potatoes don't go brown. He's not sure what he's doing wrong, but once he puts them in water and boils them, they taste like they should.

Knuckles huffs and shakes his head. "You don't even know what you're doing."

Dick looks down at the potatoes. "I know. They go all brown and ugly."

Knuckles laughs a pained laugh. "Not that, moron. I'm wondering how the hell you managed to get inside our home. If anyone had spotted you, you would have been killed." He holds up his hands to forestall an answer. "Don't tell me. For both our safety's sake. But I wrote that song less than a year ago, and I've sung it exactly once for an audience. That was at home."

Dick blinks in confusion until he realises he's been singing one of the songs Knuckles played. "Oh dear." He huffs in embarrassment. "I suppose, in that case, it would be hard to come up with a convincing lie about how I heard it. But I felt it in here," he taps his chest over his heart, "and I've been listening to it on repeat in my head ever since."

Knuckles’ cheeks tint a light pink and he gets a burst of happiness in his scent. He takes a drag on his cig and points at the potatoes. "If you put them in water as soon as you've peeled them, they don't go brown."

"Oh. Thank you, dear. We're having soup for breakfast."

"Soup. For breakfast," Knuckles deadpans in a flat voice. He takes another deep drag on his cig, regarding Dick with no hint of what he thinks. He exhales smoke and nods. "Get some clothes on before you go to the stove to cook. Or pelt. To protect from burns," he clarifies.

He doesn't help out. Instead he watches Dick's cooking process, only leaving for a little while to go down to the outhouse. He's a strong man, and still has to use all his might to get the door open. He comes back and keeps watching Dick work.

Dick proudly serves them both his soup. Knuckles eats up everything, then turns his chair to face Dick. Dick tenses up in anticipation.

"Dicky, I need to talk to you about spices," Knuckles says gravely.

Dick's mood falls. "Oh dear. I've been doing it wrong. You hated it," he laments.

Knuckles sniggers. "There was nothing wrong with it. But it was definitely beginner's level. Go fetch the same ingredients again and I'll show you another way to do it."

Dick doesn't have any spices aside from salt. That doesn't seem to bother Knuckles all that much. He shows Dick how to effectively prep the vegetables, and in what order to add them to the pot so they reach the perfect texture, unlike Dick’s past efforts that had resulted in some ingredients dissolving into mush while others are barely cooked through. He shows Dick how to do all these things one step at a time, then lets Dick do them after the demonstration. Dick's having fun and is so happy, purring isn't enough. He has to make joyous chirps or he might burst.

They talk and laugh and talk more. They head out to the market and split up for a bit. When they meet up again Knuckles has bought a lot of spices, a mirror, and cigarettes. Dick's bought a guitar, a chicken for dinner, and booze. The mirror is a gift for Dick since he doesn't own one, and Dick gives Knuckles the guitar. Knuckles comes home with Dick, shows him what spices go well with what, and urges him to experiment. He tunes the guitar and starts playing while Dick cooks, and it’s Dick’s turn to purr loudly and chirp the way Knuckles did when Dick gave him bananas. The best thing is when Knuckles’ starts purring too, syncing with Dick, and starts jamming on the guitar. Knuckles’ smile is wide and his eyes bright and happy.

Sated from food and seated by the table drinking, Knuckles takes the guitar again. This time he plays the song Dick had been singing to himself that morning, asking Dick to sing. Knuckles looks as happy as he did eating bananas when Dick sings the song Knuckles wrote.

Knuckles stays.

They sleep naked, and Dick’s rapidly losing his shyness. Knuckles isn’t naturally cuddly, but he doesn’t mind Dick’s neediness. 

Knuckles stays another day and night. They spend a lot of time talking and laughing. They get along surprisingly well. There are a few hiccups. Knuckles asks “Are you ticklish?” at the same time as he drags his nails along the sole of Dick’s foot. Dick shrieks and kicks out before he can stop himself, catching Knuckles in the face so the Alpha slams into the wall. Dick’s instantly apologetic and remorseful, feeling guilty about the black eye he caused, but Knuckles laughs until he’s wheezing and ascertains that, yes, Dick’s ticklish.

Knuckles instigates a playful game of wrestling, but Dick hasn’t played like that since he was six years old and first started learning how to read. He mistakes Knuckles' antics for sudden hostility. They clear up the confusion soon enough, though, and Dick rediscovers how much fun play-wrestling is.

When Dick was a kit, before his parents stopped scent-marking him, they wouldn’t do it the usual way. They had a bedtime ritual, where Dick would remove his shirt and lie on his belly. His parents would then massage his back with their secretion. Dick gets the idea to do the same to Knuckles. Since they're both naked in bed, Dick sits on Knuckles' ass, rubs his own ear glands until they start secreting, then starts massaging Knuckles. When Dick massages Knuckles' neck he gets Knuckles' secretion on his fingers and on impulse licks them clean. It tastes good, and he keeps sneaking in tastes. 

A lot of strange things happen. For one, Dick's secretion changes colour and turns milky instead of clear. Then all his glands go into overdrive, secretion flowing freely. When he leans forward it keeps dripping onto Knuckles' cheek. It runs down to his mouth, and Knuckles licks it up curiously, stating that it's weird with its non-taste. Not long after that, Knuckles' secretion also gets that milky colour and tastes even better. Dick doesn't mention it because he's feeling high. He discovers that Knuckles doesn't have a gland on the knob of his spine like Dick does. It's strange. Dick's just about to ask about it when he remembers what Knuckles told him about presenting. How the body absorbs parts of the body, and that Juvies and kits bond more easily. It's logical to think presenting would close glands as well. Dick doesn't mention the difference.

Knuckles gets so relaxed by the massage, he appears stoned, as if he's had a whole handful of downers. Dick also feels drugged, but he has this aggressive buzz under his skin, a need he doesn't understand and can't satisfy. He lies down on top of Knuckles and slides, slowly, slowly, rubbing himself over the Alpha. He's got enough wherewithal to remember Knuckles' fear of bad-touching a Juvie, and Mal’s classifying the kiss they shared as a no-no. Therefore he doesn't lick Knuckles' glands as he’d done to Aiden. Dick wants nothing more than to attach himself to the gland behind Knuckles' ear and lick and suck. Instead, he rubs his lips underneath it, then licks his lips clean. It's nearly the same because Knuckles' glands leak as freely as Dick's.

Knuckles rolls over underneath Dick, putting them chest to chest. His eyes are lidded and lips slack and parted. Dick holds himself up over Knuckles, spellbound watching his secretion drip down on the Alpha's face. He leans to the side to aim into the mouth. Knuckles keeps swallowing and licking his lips to get what he's missing. He rubs his wrists along Dick's back slowly. Everything they do is slow. Dick has a trance-like feeling. He lays down properly and squirms to mark Knuckles up further. Knuckles slides his wrists along Dick's arms and rubs them against Dick's wrists. It feels silky. That's how Dick discovers that they both have glands there too. Those glands don't leak as much secretion as the rest, but it appears that the secretion from there is much more concentrated - small beads of sticky white that don’t run or drip, but melt into the skin of the other person.

He closes his eyes and allows himself to be swept away by feelings and sensations. He thinks he’s learning the practical meaning of sensuousness while they caress and mark each other with the slowest movements possible until almost every part of them is covered in secretion.

When Dick wakes up lying half on top of Knuckles’ chest, he feels something that makes him shiver and every hair stand on end in the best of ways. "Oh dear. I know you’re an accomplished liar, but I cannot fathom how you've managed to conceal _that_ ," he says into the pitch black.

Knuckles' chest rumbles with a low chuckle. His claws tickle up and down Dick's spine, eliciting another pleasurable shiver. "They said Martijn and I were identical twins, but we weren't identical. He couldn't claw, and he didn't like it when I did anything better than him."

"So you stopped clawing and became known for your fists."

"Mmh. You're one to talk. The rest of the gang think you can't flare," Knuckles counters.

"I don't want to be reduced to my flare colour. Can I see your claws?" Dick asks. Knuckles puts a hand on his chest in front of Dick's face and keeps caressing Dick’s back with the claws on his other hand. Dick has to flare to see in the darkness. "Dear me." If Knuckles had used his claws instead of his fists back in the day, Dick might very well have been dead. From what Dick’s seen, there’s great variation in how claws look. Dick’s own are sharp, short, and fairly straight. Knuckles has the biggest claws Dick’s ever seen, and they’re curved like nasty hooks. They might even be helpful to him while climbing, which Dick’s aren’t.

“Mhm…”

Dick lets his flare die down, darkness descending over them again. They lie quiet for a while, then he asks, “Did we make love?”

Knuckles huffs, draws breath to speak but lets it out in another huff. “I have no idea what the hell that was, to be honest,” he says after another beat of silence. “I have no prior reference. I was about to say, no, we didn’t, because making love is a sexual act. We didn’t have sex, but it sure _felt_ like making love.” He’s quiet for another moment. “Did it make you uncomfortable that I swallowed your secretion?”

“No. It excited me.”

“I usually wouldn’t do that with a Juvie, but when it dripped into my mouth, I was surprised by the taste and I kept wanting more.”

“What did I taste like?”

“Nothing.”

Dick giggles. “And that surprised you?”

“Yes. No. Yes. It was like… like leafing through a book with only blank pages, and closing it with a feeling of having read a full story. And… and I think I owe Aiden half an apology.”

“How come?”

“Because what we did… it wasn’t sexual, but it was different from how I would have touched another minor. In part at least. The repulsion didn’t kick in. But it’s so strange because the bonding trance _did_ , and that goes against everything I thought I knew. I’m so confused.” Knuckles makes a frustrated sound, then words start tumbling out. “If it wasn’t for Mar, I’d think I know the answer to why. It would have been obvious to me that you’re an adult. But, a few days after you told us how Mar feels about sex, I pulled him aside to talk and extend a real apology. He told me he’s never physically felt an aversion to sexual acts. He’s found it gross, thinking about it, but he’s not particularly bothered by actual touch by loved ones. Most Juvies, when they get close to presenting, play pretend knotting. You know, like humping each other, biting each other’s necks, and spooning each other as if they’re knotted. Mar did that too. Then Aiden presented, and Mar still did that, or he tried to, with Aiden. Aiden would get upset like Mar should have been, but wasn’t. I brought it up with Marcel. Marcel is one of my primaries and our Second―”

“The Alpha who slapped you when you called him stupid for moving in on the Williams pack?”

Knuckles sucks in a short breath. “Yes. How do y―? Nevermind. Back in the Old Country, he was a professor at one of the most prestigious universities, before he enlisted and became an army officer. He’s a great teacher―”

Dick interrupts Knuckles again. “He can’t be that great since he appears to believe you’re dumb, and you’re a very intelligent man.”

“I wouldn’t say _very_ intelligent,” Knuckles mutters. “But Marcel _is_ a great teacher, whatever you may think of him. And he always takes the time to explain things no matter how stupid a question is. He says that if you don't know the answer to a question, it isn't a dumb question."

"Like you do, with me," Dick states.

"I guess? Haven't thought about it."

"You brought up Mar's sexuality with him?"

"Yeah. It disturbed me. So I asked about it. Marcel said nature, our biology, adheres to strict rules, and every person we meet is an exception to those rules."

Dick chuckles. "That doesn't make sense."

"No, no, it _does_. What he means is that most people diverge in one way or another. When we compare a huge number of people they, as a group, have a lot of things in common that we describe as facts and rules. He says that with most people, the oddities go unnoticed, because they're insignificant. It can be an extra tooth, or exceptional sight, or the heart being placed on the wrong side of our body. Anything really. And when we talk about facts about how things are, we talk about the commonalities and leave out the divergence. Like how and when you present. Martijn and I presented within an hour of each other, but I took nearly a year to finish the process and he took less than two months. And both those things are normal. Meaning, when you look at a large number of people, it's common both to take a long time and a short time to present. Neither of us was on the extreme end of the spectrum. Then there are the really extreme cases who present as both Alpha and Omega, or lose their Juvie marker without presenting as anything. So Mar is rare for not having felt aversion as a minor, but he's far from the only one. And usually, that doesn't matter because the adult feels it, and they'll make sure nothing sexual happens so the oddity goes unnoticed."

Dick hums. “So that’s what's wrong with me?”

Knuckles sniggers. “There’s nothing wrong with you. Except the one-foot-in-the grave part,” he says. He’s quiet for a while. “I brought that up with Marcel too. Your scentlessness, I mean. I told him you’re a Juvie who was born scentless, and I asked him why you aren’t dead.”

“What did he say?”

“He asked if you were a convert right away, for starters. He said that during times of hardship and war, it’s common among all designations for kits to be born scentless. But Primals and Packrunners usually cure their kitlings while Conservatives fail to get their kitlings to survive. So he pinned you as a convert since you weren’t cured as a kitling. He said that you had to be extraordinarily strong and determined to live in order to survive as long as you have. But, he said if you’ve held on this long you’re most likely not going to die until you’ve presented. He told me he’d heard of a few cases like yours in the Old Country, and those people all died fairly soon after they’d presented. There are no scientific studies on the subject since it’s so rare, and he only has hearsay to go on, but he theorized that it has to do with how bonding hormones change when we present. He thought that it would be possible to cure you once you’re an adult. You just need to have proper bonding sex with your pack. He said that even if it doesn’t cure you, it probably will help you stay alive and prosper as long as you get it on with your pack a lot. He said that if you’d stayed a Conservative, he’d have given you three months, tops, but pointed out that there are exceptions to every rule so you might hold on longer. I was so freaked out. I talk about the Red Romans as if it’s a pack of ten people, not just you. I felt I needed to warn you somehow.”

“That’s why you…” Dick doesn’t finish the sentence.

“Yeah… and I’ve been thinking. If you really want to go to college, I have a solution. It’ll work, since you have no marker of any kind. They don’t know you’re a Juvie, so you can apply as an adult. Just make someone else add the scent signature then claim the scentlessness is recent once you get in. You'll have to forge the paperwork from schools you've gone to. And unless you can scam yourself into a scholarship, you'll have to pay a lot of money. Maybe you can get the Williams brothers to sponsor you? Aiden's sweet on you, so maybe they will. But I need to warn you, because it's going to be hard. At college, there are a lot of things that they'll take for granted that you know, and they start building on that. You're more ignorant about some things than most―" Knuckles interrupts himself to snigger when Dick tenses up. "I'm stating a damn truth, dickhead. It's because you're an orphan, not because you're dumb. No need to get huffy."

"Pardon me, but I do feel that I'm quite exceptional."

Knuckles laughs. "Yeah. But you didn't know how kits are made. Stuff like that is taught in school. History, science, biology, math. If you cheat yourself into college you’ll have a lot of extra cramming to do. And you have to prepare yourself for the risk of getting molested. I told you, sex happens up here,” he taps Dick’s temple with the back of two fingers, “so if you pretend to be an adult, which you’ll have to do to get in, people are going to treat you as if you are.”

Dick hums, feeling happy about Knuckles thinking about him. “Thank you, dear. I’ll have to consider this idea. But I think you were right the first time. I think my first priority should be to get my pack together, so I can become, what was it you said? The grandmaster of fucking?”

Knuckles laughs. “Those were my words, yeah.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Go ahead. You always do, so why stop now?”

“Why do you pretend you’re stupid? And how on earth have you managed to fool your pack? You must have hidden your intelligence from a very early age to succeed with that.”

“Oh. Um…” Knuckles is quiet for a while, caressing Dick's back lightly with his claws. "It started because of Martijn and continued because of Laurent and Mal, I guess. ... From as far back as I can remember, Martijn didn't like it when I outdid him, but he'd be very happy with me when I made him look good. When we were homeschooled, for instance, the first thing we'd do when we got into the study room was to hang our jackets over our chairs. Most of the pack couldn't tell us apart, so we'd wear different jackets. Then if we'd have a test, or if the topic was hard, we'd create a commotion, like start fighting or something, and switch places. I'd pretend to be him and vice versa. He'd pretend to be a bit more stupid than either of us were, when he was me, and I had to keep the lie up once we switched back to make sure he was convincing."

"That wasn't very nice of him."

Knuckles makes a sound that doesn't mean anything. "I think… I think he was just a crappy actor. And he was so intense, showing his gratitude. He could make you feel like you were the best thing in the world, charming anyone. I'd do anything for him. He'd make me feel so special. But he liked when people hurt. Especially when I hurt for him. And sometimes… sometimes it got too much. I'd wander off to get a break from it, feeling like crap for doing so. One day I met Laurent and Mal. They were so different from anyone in our pack. I was so enamored with them, I went home and told my primaries. I overheard them talk about the things I told them in a way that could be bad for my new friends, so I started to be very careful about what I told my pack. That got even more important when the Williamses joined our rat pack at the Sanctuary.”

“Is rat pack a real expression, or just something you’ve made up?”

Knuckles’ scent tints with annoyance. “You think I’d call us rats if I made it up myself? Hardly. It’s a real expression, but I’ve heard many local variations, like raccoon, jackdaw and blackbird, but, in New York City, we say rat pack. It’s a group of friends from different packs, often young individuals, that could at any moment try to break free from their packs to form their own pack. Usually, that doesn’t happen. Usually, as we get older we remain friends and cement alliances between our packs instead. Most packs encourage friendships like ours. My pack doesn’t. They only let me go in the hopes of me bringing back news, and because they think I’m too dumb to be anything important in our pack.” 

“You could be, though,” Dick says, fingers absentmindedly playing with the curly hair on Knuckles’ chest.

“If I can’t be Patriarch, I don’t want to climb the ranks. I don’t like how we operate, and as long as they think I’m useless, I’ve got freedom. Right now I’d be chanceless against the five at the top. And our Main, Mila… she’s my great-great-grandmother. If I somehow managed to get myself to rank of the Patriarch I could challenge her for veto right in a matter. But I’d lose. Just like I’d lose to Marcel, Ewa, Andrzej, and Krystyna. I’m biding my time until I’m sure I’ll win. When you challenge someone for rank, you have to make it an official fight. You can’t use surprise or come from behind, or the pack will gang up on you in defense of the one you’re aiming to take out. Rank fights are fair. Our top five are all war veterans and incredibly skilled. And our Main… she’s not a wolfcat.”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you know humans evolved from the wolfcats?”

“No?”

“We did. Most of us. All over the world, some wolfcats branched off from their brethren and started shifting into our form. It’s thought that they copied a few other species that are now extinct or only exist in some regions. They’re seen as the primitive predecessors of modern humans. Of them, only the Nordic Scand who evolved from the Direwolves are still known to be prevalent in Scandinavia. Other species have been eradicated by us. But our Main, she’s a Siberian. Her species has gone extinct. She’s a lot different from us. My size and big claws come from her bloodline. She’s also got one pair of extra fangs that can produce venom, and she can see body heat in pitch black. She can shift almost fully in less than one hour, and her sense of smell is exceptional. Marty and I… He was born mostly without Siberian traits, and I have a lot of them. My claws and sense of smell are nearly up to par with Mila’s. But the other traits are weakened or warped. I have these tiny extra fangs, but I can’t extend them outwards like her, so they’re behind my normal teeth. And I can produce the same venom as her, but she’s immune to her own venom and I’m not. I can see heat if I flare in a certain way, but her eyes shield her from her own body heat and mine don’t, so if I try, my whole vision turns red, and I don’t see anything.”

“You’ve poisoned yourself with venom?”

“Mhm. It’s pleasant, like a drug. I only did it twice before she did some sort of test on me and declared I could never do it again. Apparently, I don’t have whatever extra ability she has that allows her to kill with the venom. Mine just drugs. My sense of smell is on par with Aiden’s, but you’re a blind spot for both of us. We have to be within touching distance to pick up on your bonds, but that’s the only thing we can smell. I’ve never told anyone how well I can smell once I discovered Marty couldn’t. He didn’t like to be bested.”

Dick hums, utterly fascinated. “Say… the glands on our wrists. I’ve never noticed them before on me or anyone else. Where do those come from?”

“They’re dormant in most people. Everyone has them, but unless you pelt often they’re not active. And even when they’re active, they don’t produce secretion unless purposefully used. Since most use their fingers to spread their secretion, it’s not necessary to activate them. Mila does it all the time, though, so we do too.”

“Who is she? I’m trying to figure out if I’ve seen her.”

“She’s tall, muscular, and it’s hard to tell if she’s male or female if she’s not naked. Her hair is short and white like snow―”

“ _That’s_ your great-great-grandmother??? She doesn’t look more than 40 or 50 years old!”

Knuckles chuckles. “I know. We don’t know how old she is, but she’s a lot older than she looks.”

Dick hums, considering whether any of this is important to his plan to steal Knuckles from the Boltons. “Antoine…?”

“Yes?”

“Can we make love again? Like we did?”

“Sure, little bird. But this time it’s my turn to give you a massage.”

When Knuckles massages Dick, Dick’s thankful that the pitchblack hides how he has to bite the pillow not to cry out in pleasure every time Knuckles’ clever fingers go over the gland at the knob of his spine. But soon enough every gland on both their bodies is back in hyperdrive, and that strange but wonderful trance takes over. 

In the morning they make sexless love again. Knuckles starts teaching him how to fight properly, after breakfast. Dick’s always thought of Knuckles as a pugilist, but he’s adept at using his legs too, and he can kick well-above his head height without losing his balance. They make love again, eat, play music and sing, make love, eat, drink, talk, make love and sleep. Time ceases. Dick gets one of those annoying fevers, making Knuckles laugh since it apparently triggers Knuckles’ Rut. Knuckles apologizes since he can’t help what his body does. He never smells of sexual arousal, though, and he never touches Dick in the ways Aiden does - that Dick’s now learned are sexual. Like Knuckles says, sex happens in your head. “You look at a woman and know she’s still a Juvie, you feel nothing. The next day she’s presented and you want to fuck her so bad it hurts,” Knuckles says and reminds Dick that’s why it’s so important that he tells them when he presents since they won’t get the scent-clues to tip them off when they need to reevaluate how they treat him. 

The two of them never really come down from their drugged, trancelike state. The intimacy it brings is addictive. And something happens. Knuckles has never smelled so good. He smells… Dick can’t put his finger on it, but he knows he himself smells more strongly of Knuckles than he’s ever smelled of anyone. The whole room smells strongly of them. And that’s it, maybe? It smells of them even though Dick doesn’t have a scent. 

Dick’s not sure how many days pass once Knuckles’ Rut hits. He’s never had an appetite when he’s in a fever, and Knuckles’ Rut affects him the same way. They forget to eat. Knuckles starts having strange mood swings where he’s in a sudden panic for some reason he can’t define. He angrily tries to leave, but Dick roars and backs him back into the nest. There Knuckles curls into a ball of distress, desperately seeking comfort from Dick when Dick comes to subdue him. Dick can’t say why he’s acting the way he is any more than Knuckles can explain his panic attacks. They’re both acting more on instinct than anything by now, speaking Primal almost as much as they speak English. But time has ceased to exist and they live in a bubble.

The bubble is popped when Mercy comes to collect rent. Dick’s up and about, cooking with the last of their food supply, and Knuckles is sleeping in their nest.

As usual, Mercy knocks on the window then opens it and swings himself right in like Dick’s asked him to. “Howdy, kitto. Glad to see ya. Yer friends are worried ‘bout ya. They’ve―” Mercy cuts off when an icy, murderous growl comes from the nest. 

Knuckles stands in the opening to the bed-turned-wall. He smells furious, flaring brightly, his pupils mere slits, long fangs in the process of dropping, and all his teeth teethed to sharp points. His head is lowered slightly while the rest of his body is puffed up for a fight, gaze locked on Mercy under a fearsome scowl.

Mercy takes one serious look at Knuckles, then grabs the top of the window to slowly heave himself up to sit crouched just outside of it, guardedly keeping his eyes on Knuckles.

Knuckles stops growling as soon as Mercy is outside, but keeps staring at him with murder in his gaze.

“Ah, Mercy, how nice to see you,” Dick says and goes to fetch the rent money. He’s been living off his savings lately, but he has enough for six months rent so it isn’t a problem. He walks up to Mercy and stands on his tiptoes to give his older Alpha friend an affectionate temple rub. Knuckles growls another warning when Dick touches Mercy. Dick frowns at him. “Do behave. Mercy is a good friend and should be treated as such. Mercy, this is Antoine Roman, current Patriarch of the Red Romans, I suppose. Antoine, this is Mercy Smith of the Hales, our Landlord,” he introduces.

Knuckles hostility doesn’t go away completely, but he suddenly smells distressed.

“Antoine Roman, huh? I recognise ya. Yer formerly Tony Bolton? Mal’s sweetheart?” Mercy asks.

“I―” Knuckles seems at a loss for words. 

Mercy takes it as an ‘Aye’ and nods. “Thought so. I reckon you kits know what yer doin’?” he asks seriously, keeping a wary eye on Knuckles.

“Oh, hardly. I’m making it up as I go,” Dick answers. “Mal loves us both, so I’m trying to make sure she can have us both. I’m improvising.”

“Ya don’t say…” Mercy keeps his gaze locked on Knuckles. He takes a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and holds them out towards Knuckles who doesn’t make a move to accept the offering. Mercy then offers Dick a cigarette. Dick takes it with a chirp of gratitude. Mercy takes one himself and lights both before pocketing the packet. “Antoine,” he says. “I’d like a word in private with yer boy here. Ya don’t mind if he comes out on the roof with me for a moment, do ya?”

Knuckles growls an angry ‘ _No! Mine!_ ’ then whines and disappears behind the bed-turned-wall of their nest.

Mercy gestures with a jerk of his head for Dick to follow him outside. They go to the furthest edge of the roof and sit down. They smoke in silence for a little while. Mercy looks concerned. "Yer in for a world of trouble, boy," he says at last. "I ain't even gonna ask how ya did it. It ain't important right now. Snipin' someone is serious business. When the day comes for ya to get Laurent from us, we're already prepared. He's said that's what he wants and you showed yer mettle the day we were attacked. So we'll give Laurent a soft fade to avoid him gettin' all moody on ya. But the Boltons ain't gonna take kindly to you stealin' one of theirs. They ain't like us. They're a tricky bunch. They'll be comin' to get their boy back, an' they'll be out for blood." He gives Dick a look heavy with concern and takes another drag on his cig. "I'm gonna give ya some advice."

"I'm all ears."

"As soon as ya safely can, the two of ya take a boat across the water to the Williams pack, an' try to get as close as ya can to the Williams core home before ya dock. Then go straight to their home an' ask for Sean Williams. Ya made an impression on him the night of the ambush an' he knows yer friends with Mar an' Aiden. Ask for asylum and explain why. I'm bettin' they'll give it to ya. Y'all’ll be safe inside high walls guarded by gunmen. Not even the Boltons can get to ya there.”

“You really think that’s necessary?”

Mercy nods, takes one last drag on his cigarette, squishes it against the roof and flicks it over the edge. “M’fraid so, kitto. A snipin’ is an act of war.”

“Thank you for the advice, Mercy.”

After Dick’s paid the rent and said goodbye, he goes back inside to find the room stinking of fear and anxiety. Knuckles has covered himself completely with pillows and blankets and rolled into a ball, lying on his side hugging his knees to his chest. Dick lifts one of the blankets to see how Knuckles keeps sniffing himself over and over. Knuckles looks up at him with worried eyes, then unfolds like a cobra to pull Dick down on top of him and hug Dick close. “This is impossible, Richard. I know we’ve bonded pretty hard, but shifting a pack bond like this shouldn’t have been possible without sex or siphoning. It shouldn’t be―” 

“What’s siphoning?” Dick asks. But for once, Knuckles is too shaken, too unsettled to listen to Dick’s question.

“―possible. If anything, you, as a Juvie, should have taken my bond. Hellfire, little bird, I didn’t even notice it happening. But it explains everything. The panic attacks I’ve been having, the neediness, the regression to instinctual behaviour. I―” He cuts off to place a brief but wet kiss on the tip of Dick’s nose, something he’s started doing to mock Aiden’s lie about the notorious kiss. “Dicky, Boltons recruit almost singularly through snipings and forced bondings. We get taught how this works at a very early age. I should’ve been perfectly safe spending a few days with you. This shouldn’t have happened. I begged you not to make a dreamer out of me. You’re making this so hard.”

Dick feels something small and hurt crawling in his gut. “I love you.”

“Of course you do, dickhead! If we didn’t love each other, I wouldn’t have lost my Bolton pack bond!”

The answer makes the hurt feeling settle down. “So that’s why you smell so good now?”

Knuckles lets out a pained chuckle. “What? You didn’t know? Then why the hell did you tell the Hale I was your Patriarch?”

“Oh, I decided that weeks ago when I saw Marcel slap you after you warned him not to mess with the Williamses. I figured, I can always reclaim the position once I’ve presented. To you, we might just be a rat pack, but to me, you’re the only pack I’ve ever had to call my own. I intend to see us all happy and cared for.”

“They’ll come looking for me. What are we going to do?”

“Mercy suggested we go by boat to Long Island and seek asylum with the Williams pack.”

Knuckles closes his eyes and swallows audibly. He’s quiet for a beat, then asks, “How long has it been since you picked me up by the bay?”

“A few days, I think?”

“More than a week?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Alphas disappear now and then to be with Os in Heat. They won’t find my absence worrisome until a week has passed. We’ve got some time.” With that, Knuckles pulls off Dick’s shirt off then sits up to divest himself of his own. He lies down and pulls Dick back on top of him. “I have a new pack bond I can’t smell. Please, let’s cement it one more time.”

“How do you know we’ve got a pack bond if you can’t smell it?” Dick asks and adjusts his position so he can rub his neck against Knuckles’ throat.

Knuckles rubs back in the same sensuous way they’ve been marking each other for days. At this point, both sweaty―Dick from his fever and Knuckles from his Rut, skin glides easily against skin and triggers a flow of secretion. “Because my other pack bond’s gone. Normally, it takes a year for a pack bond to fade, unless your pack dies or another pack bond takes its place.” He lets out a humourless chuckle. “I’ve been told by pack members who we sniped that they didn’t notice it happening at first. I always thought that was stupid. How can you not notice? But I know a person has a panicked reaction when the bonds start trading places. That’s normal. I should have understood what was happening. I didn’t, because I was too swept up in us, in how wonderful we smell together, how damned happy I am. But now that I’m aware of it, I can feel it. I can feel we’re connected. And I smell that I’m packbonded, just not to whom. But I can smell it on you. So let’s give it a chance.”

“That’s the spirit, dear,” Dick says, smiling against the skin of Knuckles’ shoulder.

“But if we fail… if they take me back… Don’t let me hurt the rest of our friends. You don’t know how strong the compulsion of a pack bond can be. If they snipe me back… they’re about to do something awful―”

“Attack the Swifts,” Dick fills in.

Knuckles swallows audibly again. “I’ve promised not to talk about it.”

“And a Packrunner keeps his promises. I know. I know what they’re planning. That’s why I had to get you before it happened.”

“Promise me, whatever happens, whatever you have to do, don’t let them force me to hurt my friends,” Knuckles begs, tense and anxious.

“I promise, dearheart.”

Knuckles relaxes. And as usual, once they’ve committed to their platonic pseudo-lovemaking, the bonding trance takes over and eradicates their ability to measure time. Their pants and the nest are equally soaked afterwards. Dick can’t even tell if it’s just sweat, secretion, or if he peed himself again. (Or maybe it isn’t pee at all? Maybe it’s some gland he wasn’t aware of before? He’ll gather the courage to ask Knuckles once they’re safe behind the Williams pack’s walls.) They have to hang their clothes and several blankets out to dry. Knuckles is apologetic, saying he tends to sweat a _lot_ during his Ruts. Dick thinks it’s both their faults, but it forces them to stay another night until their clothes are dry. Another night leads to another bout of lovemaking and they’re not ready to leave until mid-morning.

“Maybe we should bring provisions? I don’t feel good going to the Williamses begging for protection and expecting them to feed us as well,” Knuckles hesitantly says.

“Sure. We’ll stop by the market before we head for the bay and steal a boat. Shouldn’t take too much extra time,” Dick agrees.

In hindsight, it turns into one of Dick’s greatest regrets in life. They don’t know it, but they’ve lived in their bubble for roughly a week and a half. The Boltons are searching for Knuckles and they’ve picked up his trail. It happens so fast. They’ve separated to minimize the time it takes to buy what they need at market. They’re less than thirty yards apart when someone nearby sniffs Dick and goes “He smells like Tony,” and grabs Dick’s arm. The guy is scentless, and Dick didn’t smell him coming. Dick spins around kicking at the guy’s knees and slashing with his claws at the guys face, making a distress call instinctively. Someone hits his head from behind and everything goes black.

He blinks awake, head spinning, vision reduced to pinpricks and ears ringing. There’s a dead man lying beside him and another some yards away. Knuckles is fighting like a Fury. Fangs fully dropped, wicked claws no longer a secret to the Boltons, barely keeping several men at bay. Dick can’t move. Staying conscious is a struggle. He sees the Bolton Main, Mila, behind Knuckles but can’t cry out a warning. He sees her extend a pair of snake-like fangs and bite Knuckles in the arm. A tiny bite, but Knuckles topples like someone cut the strings off a puppet.

Then they’re gone, disappearing through a sewer hole somewhere, leaving Dick and the two dead Boltons to be picked up by the Pyre truck. Dick closes his eyes and succumbs to the darkness.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and please comment! :D


	13. The First Hard Hit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick is desperate to get Knuckles back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, a huge thank you to my lovely betas, Lisa nad Melina.
> 
> Also, I'm sorry....

* * *

The days that follow are hazy for Dick. He breaks into the Bolton home in search of Knuckles and finds out he's locked into one of the few rooms that has a wall all the way up, so Dick can't access it by going on the beams under the ceiling like he can with most of the other rooms. There are always at least two guards by the door, and Knuckles is never alone in there. Dick only catches brief glimpses of him when people go in and out of the door. Sometimes the people leaving have bruises or are bleeding, but as the days progress that happens less frequently. Dick also finds out in bits and pieces what had happened. The Boltons had caught traces of Knuckles’ scent lingering from his and Dick’s previous visit to the market when they went to buy spices. It nearly caused a territorial dispute since one Bolton tried to climb up to the roof to follow the trail, something the Hales had taken offence at. So the Boltons had returned over and over, some of them blocking their scent somehow so as not to alert the Hales as to how many Boltons were sniffing around their territory. Dick wonders how, since it seems like they weren’t using regular scent blockers.

Dick overhears snippets of conversation. The Boltons are confused. They don’t know why Knuckles lost his bond. They can't figure out why he's resisting them so hard. Most of them are confused, anyway. On the third day, Marcel, the Alpha Second, comes striding towards the door where several others are discussing the matter. Knuckles is alone in the room for once, but only because the three people who were in there with him are right outside talking with the guards. Marcel stops by the guards. "He didn't just lose his bond. We're not dealing with a strong case of wanderlust. We're dealing with a pack bond. From now on, we need to treat this as a hostile sniping," Marcel says.

"No way. We can't smell anyone on him."

"A while back he came to me asking about scentlessness because, as he said it, one of the Red Romans was scentless since birth. I looked into it, and it turns out Tony's been lying to us about the size of the Roman pack. There's only one of them. Tony was gone for more than a week. It's more than enough for a Main to turn an unsuspecting, willing Alpha. That means we've got the Roman Patriarch locked into this room. We need to treat him as such."

"Can't Mila just bite him?" someone asks.

Marcel slaps him hard. "It's called mating bite for a reason, moron. Would you want to wake up mated to a closely related primary O?"

"No, sir."

"Thought so. Now, open the door."

The guard scrambles to obey. Dick gets a glimpse of Knuckles sitting naked at the foot of the bed, elbows on his knees and hands covering his face. He looks up when the door opens and Marcel steps inside. "Hey, Tony. You know I love you, and I hate to see you hurt, so I'm sorry to be the one to inform you. Your Main is dead," Marcel says. Knuckles looks uncomprehending. "Richard Roman, your Main, is dead," Marcel clarifies with a soft, regretful voice. "And I'm sorry it had to come to that."

Knuckles’ face contorts in pain, eyes filling with tears. "No. Dad―" The door closes, cutting off Dick's glimpse into what goes on.

Knuckles is out of reach. Dick doesn't eat and barely sleeps, watching the door. He understands he's losing Knuckles as more time passes. Sometimes he gets glimpses of lovemaking, the adult kind, other times glimpses of Knuckles resting his forehead on someone's shoulder, doing that grunting noise. Sometimes the person he’s with will do it back.

Knuckles starts being allowed to move around in the home. He's still never alone and Dick gets his first whiff of him. The Bolton pack bond is firmly back in place. Knuckles rarely smiles and has huge mood swings. He jumps up in rank because as soon as someone says something he doesn't like, he challenges them. Gone are the days he'll stand for being bullied. He has no cause to anymore, since he only played dumb to keep his friends and his hidden life safe. Now when Dick sees his eyes, they're dead and hard. It makes Dick think of what Knuckles said; a dreamer feels their failures more acutely. Antoine Roman dreamed. Tony Bolton pays his price.

Dick's bond is as strong as it ever was, which is a new record, but his body's shutting down. He feels no hunger, no need to relieve himself, and he's losing body temperature. Anytime he moves he’s extremely stiff and everything hurts. He doesn't care. He's experienced all these conditions before, and since he's focused on lying still and spying, they’re helping. He reflects that his lowered body temperature is a good thing if their Main truly can see heat.

Knuckles loses a rank challenge, and Dick gets to witness firsthand what Knuckles meant when he said he stood no chance to beat the current top rankers. But Knuckles is smart enough to submit before he's sustained any serious injuries.

Dick's surprised to realise that Marcel really loves Knuckles. He's soft with Knuckles as often as not, and immensely proud of him. And when Knuckles makes a certain statement, it makes Marcel leave the room to break down crying out of sight. Knuckles said, "I'm yours for now. But the moment we betray our own for Conservative blood money, we're dead. And when I die, my real Main will be waiting for me beyond the veil."

Dick's surprised how badly that affects the older Alpha. Mila crouches down beside the crying Alpha Second with a confused " _Mrrt?_ "

"I've lost him. I've lost my son," Marcel sobs.

"You didn't cry for his brother," Mila points out with a heavy Russian accent. "And Tony's still alive."

"Marty was what we wanted him to be, but Tony was always my favourite. Now Tony's like a soldier on a suicide mission. I've lost him."

"It will pass. He’s had a hard fade from his Main. He'll find his spark again," Mila consoles. She gives him an affectionate temple rub then leaves. Dick feels like flaring where he lies overhead, so he can draw Marcel's attention, pretend to be a ghost and say, 'How do you think _I_ feel? You took him from both of us.' Since he doesn't know if Marcel is one of those who believes in ghosts, he doesn't. Dick doesn’t understand why they keep referring to him as a Main. On the other hand, maybe Knuckles didn’t tell them how the bonding really happened. Since they know he’s scentless, maybe it’s the most logical conclusion for them?

Knuckles is hard and cold. He plays with and smiles at the kits, who all seem to adore him, but the smile never reaches his eyes. He's become what Dick used to think he was, except he skips out on stupid jokes and mean comments. When he jokes now, he bypasses mean and goes straight into cruel.

Dick gets to see Knuckles have a lot of sex. He learns the difference between fucking, bonding sex, and lovemaking. Until he witnesses Knuckles and Marcel have sex, Dick mistakes bonding sex for lovemaking. But the intimacy between Knuckles and Marcel makes him realise the difference. Dick and Knuckles hadn't had sex, but the tenderness between them was the same as when Knuckles is with Marcel. And Knuckles talks with Marcel like he doesn’t do with anyone else, showing relief at finally dropping the pretence of being someone he’s not. Dick’s not sure, but it seems like Marcel isn’t confused or surprised by Knuckles’ sudden competence like the rest of the pack.

There is no way to get to Knuckles alone. Dick realises he’ll need help to get Knuckles back. He just needs to stay and watch a little bit more, he tells himself, making any excuse just to get to be this close a little longer. The thought of leaving Knuckles’ vicinity almost brings him to panic.

While staying an extra day before going to the Williams pack for asylum proved to be a major mistake, sticking around the Bolton home is a lucky move. The same man that visited the craftsman pack in Dick's building, comes visiting the Boltons. He has a large bag full of money with him. "Here’s the money. Half now, half afterwards, as agreed," he says when the whole pack is gathered around him in the hall where they usually spar and practise hand-to-hand combat. The Boltons aren’t deferential and respectful in their body language as the craftsman pack were, but the Main is the only one talking to him. Or, she's supposed to be. 

Knuckles speaks up. "Why the Swifts? They're the only pack around here that operates completely within the law. They pay taxes. They’re basically upholding the law while paying to do so. Your employer is in the government. Shouldn’t it be in his interest to keep the peace and get tax revenue? Why the Swifts?”

“ _Tony!_ ” Mila reprimands sharply.

Knuckles holds up his hands. “Nevermind. By voicing the question out loud, I heard the answer.” Dick thinks furiously, trying to see what Knuckles sees. He only has to reflect on Knuckles’ avid support of Marlon’s conspiracy theories, to see it. The Conservatives are doing away with the law-abiding, well-liked packs, and putting blame on the packs that are already feared. That way they can point a finger at Packrunning as a whole and sway general opinions away from supporting Packrunners.

The Conservative stranger looks back at Mila and tries to go on as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “My employer requires that you follow his plan exactly as described to you―”

“No. The plan is garbage. The attack will happen in five days as agreed upon. But we’ve revised the plan to suit our strengths,” Mila says. 

"Oh. In that case, I need to see the whole plan so I can inform my employer. He needs to know so he can deploy his troops and―"

"Cut the crap," Mila interrupts him. "We both know he won't send reinforcements. You have no business knowing our plans and strategies. We promised we'd perform a service, and we will. But how we do it is our business only."

"I must insist. My employer demands it. We―"

This time it's Knuckles interrupting again. "You can. We'll let you know everything, on one condition." He frees himself from the ring of people and walks up to the Conservative. Nobody stops him and Mila doesn't reprimand him. "When it goes down, you're to fight alongside us, one arm's length to the left in front of me." Knuckles reaches out to swipe two fingers over the man's neck below the ear, then puts his fingers in his mouth and makes that grunting noise twice. He smirks at the man. "An unmated Conservative Alpha with no strong friendship bonds? Five days is more than enough to cement a pack bond to give you access to our plans. So what do you say?” Mila and the other top rankers all smirk and look pleased with Knuckles’ play.

The man, obviously used to dealing with Packrunners, had been cool as a cucumber up until now. Even Dick can smell his sudden burst of fear. Outwardly, the man manages to keep a semblance of calm, only giving small tells of sudden nerves instead of the acute fear he smells of. “I think… I think I’ll be able to convince my employer to accept your secrecy, as long as the attack happens the right day in broad daylight,” he says.

Knuckles hums and steps back into the ring. The rest is formalities. The stranger tries to rush it, wanting to get away from the pack as quickly as humanly possible, terrified of the idea of being bonded into the pack. When he’s gone, Marcel gives Knuckles an affectionate temple rub and says, “Your Sire would be so proud.” It makes Dick curious. Marcel is the only one in the pack Knuckles ever calls dad. Dick can smell they’re related somehow, but this implies Knuckles’ real dad is dead, and Dick wonders how he’s related to the Alpha he calls dad.

Mila also offers a short “Well done,” before telling the pack to go to ‘The Room’. The Room proves to be one of those Dick can access but has never explored because it's rarely used, and Knuckles hadn't been in there when Dick stalked him. It's a war room. Dick's getting a much more detailed description of the plan than he had while he spied on the craftsman pack.

"Tony. I want you to come up from the sewers here. It's a narrow dead-end alley. Use the periscope to see when there's nearby fighting then surprise them from behind," Mila says.

"You want me away from the fighting?" Knuckles asks.

Mila points at the opposite end of the map. "Marshall Swift will be working here at the time of the attack. Marcel convinced me it would be better if you didn't have to come eye to eye with him. Don't worry, you'll see your share of fighting. You're good with a crossbow so you'll be wielding one. The Swifts in this section will…" she goes on to detail the plan minutely. Dick perks up when she brings up something unique for the Boltons. "... discover we're coming from the sewers and might try to follow us there. Down in the darkness we've got the upper hand. They'll have their flares and sense of smell to go on, so we’ll have those of you who can hide your scent guarding down there. And unlike me, you crossbreeds can use your heat vision without flaring your pupils, so they'll have trouble seeing you. I want…" she goes on to list a bunch of names, "to stand guard in the sewers, hidden by the darkness, then pick them off one by one if they're stupid enough to enter our world."

Dick soaks it all in. He watches about one-sixth of the Boltons show Mila that they still remember how to use their heat vision without flaring. When they do, their eye-whites turn black. It's frightening. He needs to warn the rest of his friends.

He doesn’t get a good opportunity to get out of the Bolton home until the evening the following day, though.

* * *

Joe spots him as soon as he rounds the corner. The big bouncer with the cauliflower ears lights up. Dick and he don't know each other well enough to call each other friends, but they're friendly enough due to having mutual friends. Still, it takes Dick by surprise when the big, burly man sweeps him into a giant hug that lifts him off the ground. "Roman! I'm so glad to see you. Our little Mal's been wilting a little more each day since both you and Knuckles disappeared. We feared the worst." His expression turns concerned. "You're ice cold. We need to get you warmed up, pronto."

"I'd prefer if you didn't. I'm well aware that my body's shutting down, but I bear grave news of another pack war happening in four days. Some of the attackers can see heat so I prefer not having any when it goes down."

Joe sniffs him before putting him down. "Is Knuckles in trouble? I can smell you've got a pack bond to him now."

"I'm afraid Knuckles might be beyond salvation. I sniped him, but they took him back. How could you tell it's a pack bond and not a friendship bond?"

"There are subtle differences that you can learn to pick up on. Aside from that, I've known Knuckles for years. I can tell by his scent on you that there's no Bolton bond."

Dick makes a regretful sound. "As it is, he's never smelled as strongly of his Bolton bond as he does since they sniped him back."

"You should go in. You're in luck. The Williamses are here. We've barely seen them since Mar made peace with their Second. They'll be in the back."

* * *

Dick ignores the dance floor entirely and beelines for the back. He spots Mar, Aiden, Laurent, Mal, Marshall, Buck and the Jayhawks, but luckily no strangers. Nobody notices his approach until he unceremoniously drops onto Marlon's lap.

Marlon utters a startled curse, then realises who just sat on him and yips loudly―a too desperate sound to be classified as delighted―and chaos unfolds. Dick's tackled by Aiden, Malicia and Laurent alike, Laurent throwing himself across the table so glasses topple, spill and shatter. The others try to get at him too, but when they can't reach they put secretion on their fingers and pry in their hands between the huggers. Dick's hugged and marked by so many people at once he starts panicking about losing his bond to Antoine. It gets worse when they realise how cold he is. The scent of distress and fear clogs Dick's nostrils. He tries to roll into a ball and makes a submissive sound that means 'stop hurting me, I'm not a threat'.

The press of people lessens, but then he's torn from his friends by Aiden who roars for everyone to calm down. Dick tries to wriggle free but Aiden's grip around his waist is a vice. "Richard needs to be warmed up and properly marked," Aiden says sternly. "We're all equally worried about him, but one at a time, darn it!"

Dick gives up on trying to wriggle free. He's too stiff to be very limber anyway. He hangs limply over Aiden's arm, looking at the floor. "I don't want to be warmed up. I need to be cold for four more days. We've got enemies that can see heat, and I intend to use this to my advantage."

"Out of the question," both Williamses say at the same time. 

"I'm sorry, Dick, but for once your consent has to be overruled," Laurent says. "We only survive a limited time with a body temperature as low as yours is right now, and that's when we're in a hibernating state. If you remain active too long without warming up, your brain will suffer irreversible damage. How long have you been like this?"

"I don't know? A week and a half, I think." Which might be a record, when he thinks about it. He's never before tried _not_ to get warm.

His answer again causes agitation, and he finds himself sandwiched between Mar and Aiden. It's strange how he used to find their scents to be the best in the world, but now they can't compete against the remnants of Knuckles left in his bond. They rub his arms and sides, and Dick struggles against them, hissing and flailing and trying to bite. But he's too stiff and slow. His shirt is pulled over his head and wrapped around his arms, securing them. He's laid down on the couch only to find that the scorching heat suddenly at his back is Laurent's shirtless chest, the next second Mal too pulls her shirt off and, with Marlon holding Dick's arms up, wriggles in between them so she's bare chest against bare chest. Dick's brain makes white noise. He tries telling himself that Packrunners don’t distinguish between male and female nudity, or Alpha and Omega nudity. But little more than a week of naked-therapy has not prepared Dick for having two soft, round female breasts belonging to the woman he wants to mate pressed against himself. He whimpers and stops struggling. Marshall holds a glass to Dick’s mouth and forces him to drink. Buck feeds him fried cheese sticks, and Mal covers his mouth with a hand to prevent him from spitting it out. Resistance to his friends’ demanding care is futile. Making him eat and drink, marking him, warming his body - it works, and it hurts something awful when his system kicks back into gear. They allow him to visit the restroom, and he has to stay there for too long, peeing too little and pooping rocks. When he comes out of there, Aiden’s pacing outside. He’s promptly clothed in Aiden’s college shirt and a gets a handkerchief smelling of Aiden tied around his neck.

His hunger and thirst come back with a vengeance after that, and he’s served a whole chicken, potato wedges, salad, apple juice, beer, and water, all while his friends fuss over him. He starts feeling how exhausted he is.

Aiden’s up angrily pacing by the table. “Do you know how worried we’ve been? First Knuckles goes awol, then you disappear without a trace! Laurent and Mal stopped by your apartment several times, finding no sign of you. Mercy told us your rent money was left out on the table and the apartment didn’t seem like anyone had been there for ages. Then, when we finally do hear you’ve been seen, it was Mercy who asked us if you’d made it safely to us. We had no idea what he was talking about! At least when Knuckles made himself scarce, he told us that he no longer wanted to see us because he couldn’t stand Mar. But _you_...” He points accusingly at Dick.

“A blatant lie so transparent all of you should have seen through it. Knuckles is one of Mar’s greatest supporters,” Dick answers between bites as he tears into the grilled chicken. “To me, his absence was a distress call clear as a bell. So I stalked him to find out what was wrong.”

Aiden sputters. “You don’t even like the guy! He’s mean to you. He cracks jokes about your death. He’s said himself that he and his brother used to single you out and hunt you for sport!”

Dick halts his movements to give Aiden a flat look. “I don’t have to like him. Laurent and Malicia love him, that’s good enough for me.” Aiden grunts as if Dick had physically jabbed him with an elbow. Dick goes on. “I didn’t like him before because I feared him. That’s until I realised he was offering his blunt-edged friendship despite not believing I would ever return it. I’ve gotten to know him now, and I’ve seen why he’s a man to love,” he says and continues eating. One after another his systems kick into gear. He’s started to sweat again. His glands have started leaking faintly. His vision is clearer, as is his sense of smell. He hadn’t even realised how close his body was to a complete shutdown.

Aiden growls in frustration. His bright flare draws looks from people by nearby tables, but his anger makes them think better of approaching. “So what? You stalked him? Just followed him around breaching his privacy as if that’s okay?”

“Good idea,” Mar nods approvingly.

“Marlon!” Aiden chastises.

Marlon gives his brother a look as if he can’t understand the problem. Dick withholds a smirk. Laurent and Mal sit on either side of Dick. They, at least, smell happy. Laurent leans in to whisper, “Aid’s angry because he’s been worried. He’s reacted like this on Mar’s behalf in the past too.”

Dick shrugs. It doesn’t matter. He’s not going to refrain from caring for his friends just because a certain red-eyed Alpha throws a tantrum.

“Yes. I stalked him. I dropped in for a chat now and then. I discovered the Boltons are up to no good and made my stalking a full-time job. I slept in their attic and hid in the rafters above their rooms to keep an eye on them.”

“Woah,” Laurent says as a stunned silence descends over the group.

“Yuh...You went _inside_ a core home…?” Aiden asks, wide-eyed and with anxiety spiking so high it overtakes the anger.

“Yes. It’s not like they could smell I was there. In hindsight, it could have ended badly. I found out later some of the Boltons can see body heat even in pitch darkness. But they’re required to flare in a certain way that makes their eye-whites black, which they never did. Knuckles told me most humans are a subspecies of wolfcats?” Dick says, lilting his voice upward to make it a question. Both Mar and Aid nod in confirmation so Dick goes on. “But the Bolton Main is a Siberian, whatever that is. Knuckles said it’s another type of human. She’s Knuckles’ great-great-grandmother. He and several other Bolton Alphas have inherited some Siberian traits, like heat vision.”

“I thought the Siberians were extinct,” Aiden says.

“So does their Main. That’s why she won’t let any members leave. Not all of them have Siberian heritage, but as soon as she finds somebody that does, she snipes them no matter how many generations away they are from another Siberian. She can smell it, but we can’t. Still, normal humans are the majority even among the Boltons. I didn’t know any of this before I’d managed to lure Knuckles away from them. He lied to his pack about coming here. Instead, he went and drank on his own by the bay. That’s where I joined him, pretended to be too drunk to walk so he’d carry me home, then lured him to stay until we’d pack bonded.”

Aiden’s back to being enraged. “You let us worry you were dead while you locked yourself away to let _Knuckles_ fuck your brains out???” He’s so mad his fangs are dropping. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, dear. I’m a Juvie, so we didn’t have sex. We were just naked and marked each other up a lot.”

“Bullshit! That’s hecking impossible! You don’t form pack bonds from just being naked together. Why are you lying? Just tell us the truth. Out of all Alphas you could have chosen to knot you, you chose the one who abused you. And you call my sexual choices loathsome? Hah!”

Dick's getting angry. Not that he can remember calling Aiden's sex life loathsome, but it doesn't matter. He growls coldly. The fact is, that if there's anyone he'd love to have sex with, it's Knuckles. His Patriarch. "Knuckles also said it was impossible. He couldn't explain how it happened, but it did. He told me that if he thought he was in any danger of switching pack bonds, he wouldn't have stayed so long. I personally have no clue how to make a pack bond. My intention was to separate him from the herd, so to speak, and convince him to join up with me so Mal could mate us both. She'd told me that if it wasn't for his pack, she would have mated him a long time ago. She said she would have, despite his pack, if I hadn't presented her with a more tempting alternative. It was reasonable to think Knuckles would be equally tempted. We slept naked because he told me that's what Packrunners do. That's correct, isn't it?"

"Yes, but…" Aiden presses his lips together into a tight line.

"But what?"

"But that might be enough for a friendship bond, not a pack bond," Aiden says coldly. All the others are quiet, following their argument. Mal and Laurent are two lines of supportive warmth at Dick's sides.

Not that Dick needs support to defend his Patriarch. "No. I've gathered. I think I know how it happened, though. I had an impulse to massage Knuckles' back with my secretion for lubricant. It triggered both our glands into overdrive. I got his secretion on my fingers and licked it off since I was curious. Soon thereafter my own secretion changed colour and started flowing freely enough to drip. Some of it got into his mouth and he tasted it. We had a little back and forth. After that, I can't really narrate the specifics because we started marking each other up and we got high. Knuckles called it a bonding trance. We did that repeatedly over the days that followed. But there were no erections, penetrations, gland sucking or kissing involved like you adults do it. So, no, no sex involved."

"Your secretion got milky?" Buck asks. Dick nods. "I thought that couldn't happen for Juvies," she says.

"Maybe he's presented?" Marshall says then grins at Dick. "In that case, I'm ready to fuck like bunnies. Best way I could ever imagine to help a friend. My ass and knot are at your service," he says and wiggles his eyebrows.

Laurent puts an arm around Dick's shoulders. "Get in line," he tells Marshall with a shiteating grin.

Mal wraps her arms around Dick. "Nuh-uh, he's mine," she jokes.

Marlon slaps the table. "I'll poke you. I've decided."

Dick feels himself blush as Buck and the Jayhawks chime in their willingness to have sex with him. Maybe that's why Knuckles had delivered his warning in front of the whole group? So everyone would realise the importance of sex for Dick's survival?

Aiden's eyes dart between everyone as they one by one offer themselves. His gaze gets stressed out and he frowns. "Enough!" He shouts suddenly, doing a cutting gesture with both hands sweeping outwards in front of him. Startled, they all stare at him in. "Richard has said he's a Juvie and _nobody_ here will be doing any poking of any sort with a _self-proclaimed Juvie!_ Especially now that we know he's perfectly capable of pack bonding without it."

"Calm your tits, dear. I'm capable of saying no. At this point, I'm grateful for my friends so clearly showing that I don't have to fear rejection. But I can't help but wonder if your strong reaction is based on jealousy because you're sweet on me. Donarrion forbid someone else gets dibs on something you want," Dick counters.

Aiden turns a dark shade of red. It's impossible to say if it's because he's angry over being falsely accused, or because he's being called out with a rightful accusation. His flare winks out only to show that his eyes are nearly black. He steps up to the table, puts his hands on it and leans over it until he's mere inches from Dick’s face. “Darling, I don’t get sweet on people. People get sweet on _me_ ,” he says tightly.

Dick gives him a pleasant little smile and reaches out to caress his cheek sweetly. “In that case, dearheart, I pity you. There’s a certain joy that can only be had when someone’s mere touch causes butterflies in your belly.” He pulls back his hand. “But it does save you the trouble of ever being scrutinized and held up in comparison to your peers then rejected when you come up short.”

Aiden flares again and abruptly stands straight with a sneer. “Sweetheart, I have nothing to fear when compared to my peers. Why are you so hung up on Knuckles anyway? He’s always mean to you. What did he do to change your mind about him? I _know_ you didn’t like him before.”

“Let’s make a list, shall we?” Dick says and starts eating again. “For starters, he’s diligent, brave and righteous,” he says, covering his mouth with a hand as he chews. “He took the time to look into my case to see if I can be cured. When he found out the dangers that I’ll face when I present, he wasted no time warning us. Then, when he thought you kissed me―”

“On the nose! You were being cute so I kissed you on the nose, damnit!”

“Naturally, dear. But he _perceived it_ as you Prog-kissing a barely conscious Juvie. And I’m choosing to see his actions from his point of view,” Dick says smoothly, keeping steady eye contact with Aiden. He can see Aiden swallow, jaw muscles clenching and unclenching repeatedly. “I assured him several times that you’ve never touched me in a way I didn’t enjoy. But take a moment to look at it through his eyes. You’re a long-standing friend of his. He respects you and likes you. He looks up to and admires your brother. His best friend adores you. By speaking up when he thought he saw you overstep, he stood the risk of alienating a lot of people he loves and cares about, including you. That's both righteous and courageous. He was ready to fight you, expecting to lose, for my sake. And that's at a time when he was well aware I had no warm feelings towards him. Would you do it? If you saw Marlon involved in a sexual Juvie-adult interaction, would you stop it?"

"Of course, he would," Laurent says. "And if it had been true that Aiden touched you inappropriately, all of us would have spoken up. But Aiden would never do such a thing."

There's a murmur of agreement from the group of friends, but Dick doesn't miss the look between Mar and Aiden, Mar looking almost defiant and Aiden pinched and serious. Aiden looks back at Dick. "I would never touch a Juvie in the way I was accused of doing. I get your point and respect his actions, misguided as they were," he says and then resumes his pacing.

Dick drains his apple juice. "Next thing he did was climb the drainpipe despite his fear of heights. There, he proceeded to save my life, which he refused to take any credit for since it didn't require any self-sacrifice. Since then, he's taken his time to help me overcome my Conservative conditioning, he's taught me things, answered any questions I’ve had no matter how dumb they might have be. He's taught me to cook." Dick suddenly smiles. "Once I'd coaxed him to stay the night, I made soup for him for breakfast. He watched me make it, ate it all, then said, with a very grave voice, 'Dicky, I need to talk to you about spices.'"

The group of friends all laugh, except Aiden who continues his tense pacing back and forth by their table.

"He said," Dick continues, "’that if you ever cook for Aiden, I've got two words for you: Cayenne pepper. Lots of it.’"

The gang laughs again, and this time even Aiden's lips pull into a smile. "The damned bastard," Aiden says, but it sounds affectionate.

Dick goes on to list everything he'd discovered about Knuckles - how he pretended to be dumb and lied about what they did at the Sanctuary when his pack wanted him to spy, how he'd sneak out on the roof in the middle of the night to read, how amazing he was at singing and that he wrote his own music, and so on.

Aiden suddenly stops his pacing to glare at Dick. "If he's so darn fantastic, then why did he let you get into the shape you were in when you got here. Jinkies, Richard, you were on the brink of death!"

"I'm afraid that's my fault," Dick flusters. "I don't know anything about how a pack is formed. My plan was to lure him to my place, then sell him the idea of joining my pack so he and Mal could be together. I wasn't planning on creating a pack bond. But once we started bonding and the trance kicked in, we both lost track of time. Mercy came to collect rent and by then Knuckles was already my Patriarch, something neither I nor Knuckles had noticed. Mercy warned us that the Boltons were out for blood and would come for us. He told us to go to the Williams pack and ask for asylum, which we had every intention of doing. But we thought only a few days had passed, when in fact it was closer to two weeks. By then the Boltons were already looking for him. Knuckles didn't want to come begging at your doors empty-handed, so he suggested we bring provisions―"

"That's ridiculous," Mar says. "We're rich. We could feed you for the rest of your lives without denting our wealth."

"Be that as it may, but both Knuckles and I have it ingrained in us that we need to earn what we're given. Thinking we had one or two days before they started looking, we went to the market. There someone grabbed me. Knuckles killed two Boltons in my defence, but then they took him and left me for dead. After that, I started going cold. I broke into their home again, but they kept him locked into a room I couldn't access. When they finally let him leave the room, he had a Bolton bond back in place. They never leave him alone. I tried to find a chance to get him back but I couldn't. Not once in nearly two weeks." 

"Chances are, whatever feelings he has for you, if he spotted you inside their home now, he'd attack or the very least raise an alarm. It's pure instinct. Pack bonds have a strong compulsion that can make you turn against anyone out-pack without thinking. Your brain catches up eventually, but had he spotted you, the damage would have already been done before he came to his senses," Buck Cavelli says gravely.

"Yes, he did say I can't understand how strong the compulsion of a pack bond can be."

"Yeah, but you understand now, at least. Just look at you. You didn't eat or sleep. Your body was shutting down, and you still fought us because you were fixated on getting your Patriarch back," Jitterbug points out.

"It didn't feel like compulsion…" Dick says. But thinking about it, losing temperature, body shutting down, those things normally would have made him afraid. He'd grown so cold he had trouble moving and bending joints. And it's high summer. That's only happened in the dead of winter before, and he'd always done his best to fight it. This time he might have died on the Bolton rafters without even realising he was dying.

"It only does when you fight it," Mal says. "Believe me. I get the urge to offer myself every time I meet dad. Mentally, I know it's wrong and that I don't really want it, but my body wants it. It's the same with Laurent, but not as badly. Still, we try not to be alone together for too long. You weren't fighting the pull since it aligned with your priorities. That’s when you do crazy stuff." 

"This is serious, though," Marshall says. "We have to help Knuckles somehow."

Aiden stops pacing and comes to sit down on a chair opposite Dick, leaning forward and looking around to meet everyone's gaze before landing on Dick. "Okay, this is what we'll do. Mar and I will inform our Main and Patriarch that we've promised you asylum, and that we've committed to steal your boy back. I'll ask if we can get help doing it, but if we don't, I'll make it clear that Mar and I will go ahead either way. Right, Mar?"

"Of course."

"Right. Laurent, you will go to your leaders and explain the situation. Dick's got their gratitude and respect already for warning them so I'm sure they'll give us a few people who can scout from the rooftops, especially when they hear they're not the only pack involved. We'll park a car in the area, get scent blockers, rope, protective vests, and any other gear we'll need. We'll have a boat ready in the harbour. When they start letting Knuckles move around alone or with only one guard outside, we'll stage a kitnapping. We'll do it stealthily. Knuckles is most likely going to fight us, so we'll subdue him and tie him up, then take him to the car that will take him to the boat, minimizing his scent trail. You can't track a boat over water, and when we dock on Long Island we'll carry him to a car so he doesn't touch anything until he's inside our gates. There Dick can do his thing. It'll take about a week to set up the operation. I estimate it'll take about a month before they'll start letting him out on his own and that's when we strike."

"We've got three days," Dick says, hope wilting. "In four days the Boltons will attack the Swifts with the intent to eradicate them. They're getting paid by the same Conservative as the pack who attacked the Hales. I didn't manage to get any names, but his employer is in the government."

"Three days? Jinkies! That only leaves the option of a full-on attack," Aiden says.

"Their home is a fortress. How do we get in to take him back without risking his life and losing a lot of other lives doing it?" Marshall asks.

Silence falls over the group. They look around at each other but nobody has an immediate answer.

"I don't think we can. There's only one unlocked way in and that's through the hatch on the roof, and their building’s perimeter is well guarded," Dick says with a sense of hopelessness. "I think… I think we'll have to focus on defending the Swifts. Before they took Knuckles back, he made me promise not to let him hurt you all. I didn't understand why he asked that of me at the time, but…" he falls silent and looks around at his friends. In everyone’s eyes, he reads the same lack of hope. He suddenly has no appetite. Mal hides her face by his shoulder. There’s no chance of getting Knuckles out in time, and they all know it even though Marlon starts coming up with suggestions, any option would bring too high a risk to too many people.

* * *

The day of the attack Dick hides in the alley by the sewer lid where he'd heard Knuckles would emerge. He hopes he can talk Knuckles down. Save him, before it’s too late. He’s shirtless and pelted, making himself as small as possible behind a pile of trash in the corner. He watches a small periscope come up through one of the hand holes in the lid, turning around to get a view of the whole alley before turning towards the opening. Once the battle is raging in the broad street beyond the alley, the periscope disappears, and the lid is silently lifted. Knuckles vigilantly climbs out, throwing a look at the roofs around him, then he shifts his full focus to the mouth of the alley...

The whole day is a black hole in Dick’s memory, memories only coming in flashbacks. The reel is cut somewhere after Knuckles climbs out of the sewer. 

Dick had had a shouting match with Aiden that morning because Aiden didn’t want him anywhere near a full-on pack war. In hindsight, it would have been better if Aiden had won, but Mar defended Dick. “If he says he wants to participate, he can participate.” But this isn’t a regular clash of packs. The Boltons have several war veterans in their ranks. They have some fighters armed with crossbows. Crossbows are as illegal as guns, but they can’t be tracked down by scent and confiscated as easily. The Swifts, in contrast, aren’t great fighters in general and would have been doomed without the aid of their allies.

Most of the fractured memories Dick can access from the battle are hazy and don’t make sense. Like when he’s running from one place, spotting Marlon fighting with cold precision as he wields a large knife, then when Dick arrives at the other side of the fighting hotspot, Mar’s there too, this time fighting with claws and a mad grin on his face.

They say the Boltons were wiped out to a man, and their home raided to take the kits who will be adopted into the Swifts and Jayhawks. Dick knows it isn’t true. He knows one man got away. He knows it, because he hunted that man down and put him in the crosshairs of Knuckles' crossbow.

_Knuckles fires the crossbow. He’s hidden in the alley and obscured from direct view by crates. Dick sees a Jayhawk take the bolt in the chest and go down. In the tumult beyond the alley, nobody notices they’re being shot at. Knuckles crouches down and reloads. His expression is grim, focused and determined. Dick recognises that expression from being on the wrong side of it in his early Juvies. Laurent said Knuckles is “...rock-steady and loyal. Never backs down, never leaves you to tackle problems by yourself.” That’s what Dick’s looking at right now, but this time, Knuckles is putting that side of himself to use for the enemies. This time, it’s worse. His fangs are fully dropped, and his pupils are mere slits, like a cat, or snake. He’s in full war mode. Hidden by the crates, he singles out another target._

Dick wonders what the architect was thinking when he decided to connect only the upper storey of this house with the next, forming a two-storey high, arched tunnel over a very narrow alley. Dick's perched right under the ceiling of the tunnel, the arches that support the structure above him hide him from view. He's holding himself up by pressing his feet to either wall, his boots gripping the bricks easily.

He aims the crossbow at the man slinking into the mouth of the tunnel and waits for him to get closer. “You were dismissive when Knuckles told you I got new boots, but they just might be the death of you, dear,” he says.

Marcel stops with a jerk and looks up at Dick. He looks startled, but not afraid. Dick can't smell him.

"I used to slip, with my old shoes," Dick clarifies conversationally. "Tell me, dear, is hiding your scent another Siberian trait?"

Marcel's gaze flits around to take in his chances of getting away unscathed. He can’t go forward, towards Dick, and going back he’ll end up amongst his enemies again. His eyes are calculating when they settle back on Dick. "No. It's a common trait amongst wolfcats and it's believed that humans did it as well until they settled down and started farming. At that time, marking territories and showing your presence in the area became more important than hiding. Supposedly, anyone with the ability to lose their scent can learn to do it. Though it's notoriously hard to teach. By my guess, you have the potential to gain full mastery of the ability…" he narrows his eyes with a slight tilt to his head and adds almost like an afterthought, "...Mr. Roman."

Dick smirks. "Ah. A sense of humour. Cute."

"I'm very serious. From what we can see, the ability to learn goes hand in hand with the ability to resist the detrimental effects of scentlessness on our health. Your resistance is exceptional, if it's true that you've been scentless since birth."

Dick's finger twitches on the trigger at the mockery. Though Marcel's demeanor isn't mocking. He holds back the impulse to shoot. "How do you do it?"

_The target Knuckles has chosen is a close relative to Marshall. Where do you draw the line to keep the promise of ‘don’t let me hurt my friends’? The murder of a loved one would hurt Marshall something awful. Dick’s a Packrunner now. He needs to keep his promises. He squeezes the knife in his hand, palm sweaty, then stands up. “Antoine, no!” Knuckles spins around with a fierce growl and no sign of recognition. Or, if he does recognize Dick, he doesn’t care. Dick’s facing down a loaded crossbow point-blank. There’s no escape. The whites of Knuckles eyes turn a frightening black, and he starts pressing down the trigger. Dick ducks down and lunges, terrified._

"I clench. That's the only way I can think to describe it. You must be in a constant state of clenching, therefore you’d need to learn how to relax. You're in luck. Relaxation can be forced, clenching can't."

"How?"

Marcel smirks. "I'm afraid that's a show, don't tell, type of matter."

"I'll shoot you if you don't tell me," Dick threatens.

"You'd first have to convince me that wasn't your plan all along before that threat holds any leverage. But if you'd like to have your scent unlocked, I'd be happy to show you how it's done."

"Ah. So it's a bonding thing," Dick concludes.

Marcel's smirk widens. "Tony did say you are smart."

_The light in Knuckles eyes is fading, his pupils dilating back to their round shape and the black has turned white again as Dick holds him. Blood bubbles up through his mouth, drowning him, his last sentence cut short by a gurgle. “Liss’n...Ts ‘mportant. You’re an…” Then he’s gone._

Dick wants to throw up. "Tony loved you, he'd hate to see you hurt. Therefore it pains me to be the one to inform you, your Main is dead." He tries to remember the exact words Marcel had used on Knuckles and adds, "I'm sorry it had to come to that."

Marcel’s eye twitches. "I was informed that you were confirmed dead."

"Confirmed dead by who? Now, if we're talking about confirmed deaths, most of your pack is dead by now. A considerable number of you died burning in the sewers. A fitting death for people with heat vision, if you ask me. And I can see you're heading in the direction of your home. I wouldn't recommend it. It's currently being raided."

Marcel frowns in concern. "Our kits?"

"Not anymore, they're not. They're Jayhawks or Swifts now."

Marcel looks relieved. 

"You put me in a dilemma," Dick says. "You stole my Patriarch from me. Antoine is dead, because of you. When you took Conservative money to attack a pack that wasn’t a threat to the Boltons, you lost the blessing of your god.” Dick's making this up as he goes. "By siding with the people who are trying to eradicate Packrunning as a whole, you became a threat to your own god's followers. And you’re paying for that mistake with your lives."

"I don't see how that puts you in a dilemma?"

"Because Antoine loved you. He respected you and looked up to you, despite the abuse you put him through. I'd say your crimes against him are unforgivable, but Antoine and Martijn hunted me for sport, and I still found a place for Antoine in my heart."

"Yeah. So?" There’s no doubt who had influenced Knuckles. Marcel sounds exactly like him.

"I'll let you live, on a few conditions."

"I'm all ears, Mr. Roman."

"You leave New York and never pose a threat to my pack again."

Marcel purses his lips. "You have no scent for me to avoid. I wish to make you the promise, but if I can’t tell you're part of a pack, I can't avoid it."

"If you promise to ally yourself with my pack as soon as you find out I'm part of it, I'll let ignorance be a loophole."

Marcel raises an eyebrow sardonically. "Very well. I can promise that."

"If we ever meet again, you will teach me how to control my scent."

This time, Marcel chuckles. "I told you, it's notoriously hard to teach."

Dick tssks. "Antoine swore that you are an exceptional teacher, so you'll teach me."

Marcel chuckles again. "Very well. I promise to teach you how to hide and release your scent if we meet again. Tony did say you were thirsty for knowledge. I've always liked diligent students. I might even teach you other things, if you're interested."

Dick ignores the temptation. "You need to join a pack with the same philosophy Antoine and I shared, instead of the likes of the Boltons."

Marcel is quiet for several beats. "You're making a lot of faulty assumptions about yourself, Tony, and me. It's an easy promise to give as it doesn't require me to change a thing."

Dick scowls. "You won't let members go. You only recruit through snipings and forced bonding. You wouldn't let Tony go."

"Did you ask him if he wanted to leave us? Before you tricked him into a bond? According to him, you didn't. Did he not tell you that he thought he was safe to spend a few days with you? Or that, if a pack bond did happen, he expected it would be you who took on a bond to him and us. I don’t see the difference."

Dick remains silent. Knuckles had said that.

"Had he known what you are, he would have left you before he put himself at risk. But once the bond was shifted he accepted that. He loved you, just like he loved his other friends, and he might not have lied to you. But he didn't tell you the whole truth," Marcel adds.

"What do you mean? What am I?"

Marcel's smirk turns sly. "Show, don't tell, Mr. Roman. Come away with me, and I'll show you. I'll teach you everything you need to know about biological and psychological bond warfare. You will no longer need to make it up as you go. When you're ready we'll come back for Malicia, Laurent, Marlon, Aiden, Marshall, Buck, Topper and Jitterbug. We'll make it so you'll have real pack bonds to them. That's what you want, isn't it? Just like Tony wanted and planned for. I'll help make it a reality."

Dick frowns. "Why? What do you get out of it?"

Marcel turns serious. "Mr. Roman, may I call you Richard?"

"It's Dick."

"Dick, both of us are about to go through a hard fade with no pack or mating bonds to anchor us. Have you gone through a hard fade before? Because I have. Several times. I'd rather go through it with someone Tony assured me I would like, than alone."

"I'll take my chances alone," Dick sneers.

He lets Marcel go. Knuckles loved him, and that's good enough for Dick. Dick’s never able to access the memory of killing Knuckles - not in flashbacks and not in nightmares. Dick knows he did it because of the injuries on Knuckles, the blood on Dick’s knife, and because they were alone in the alley. Flashbacks of the terrifying moment when Knuckles aimed his crossbow at Dick and started pulling the trigger come back often with crystal clarity. Dick had acted on split-second instinct, ducking and lunging with his knife. It’s only later, when Dick’s dwelling on what happened and wondering if he could have done something differently that would have saved them both, that he realises Knuckles saved his life, sacrificing himself. Even in full war mode, his pack engaged in a battle to the death, Knuckles fought off the Bolton bond-compulsion long enough to allow Dick to defend himself.

A Siberian crossbreed’s eye-whites turn black when they use their heat vision. But Knuckles told Dick that when he tried it, he only saw his own heat. He’d intentionally blinded himself for Dick.

With that knowledge, Dick’s hit with the first hard fade of his life.

* * *


	14. The Second Hit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick comes back to himself after the hard fade, only to get hit by another loss. This time it's not someone dying, but the impact is still jarring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, all.  
> Hope you're all well and safe in the pandemic going on. I'm fine still. I live in a part of Sweden that isn't hit so bad yet. I'm hoping it stays that way. I've started a new job and it's going great. I worry my ass off about my parents. I live with my mom and my stepdad. Mom has asthma, a heart condition, and diabetes, and my stepdad is on chemo due to cancer. Both are over 70 years old. Should the virus hit this household, they'd be royally screwed. :( Constant worry makes me distracted and my writing slow. I also fret about all my friends and readers worldwide. Stay safe, y'all. <3
> 
> No deaths in this chapter. It's a bit of a downer, but next chapter we'll be turning to young boys in love being idiots in love. :)

* * *

Dick has the best wake-up he could imagine.

A girl's giggle penetrates the infinite darkness and is followed by a reprimanding " _Kip!_ " in Mercy's voice. Dick feels something in his nose and fights his eyes open to see the young now-Juvie girl whose life he'd saved, sitting cross-legged beside him with a finger in Dick's nose. She's grinning with her eyes closed and her nose scrunched up like she does when she's truly happy and enjoying life, face directed at something above and behind Dick. The impulse is too strong so Dick braves the screaming pain of moving stiff, long-unused limbs to poke his finger into _her_ nose, startling a high-pitched squeal out of her. 

Kip now claims to have magic fingers that can wake the dead. 

Kip is happy in her new pack. She calls Mercy dad and never goes anywhere without the slingshot Mercy gave her. Dick's fascinated by how accepting all the kits are of their new primaries despite them being directly responsible for the kits' real parents' death. He'd thought the new pack would try to erase the memory of the old pack, but no. Kip, Mercy, and Dick had sat on the roof one evening, dangling their legs over the edge while Kip enthusiastically told Mercy how Dick had helped her improve her accuracy when throwing stones. She switched right over to talking about memories of her birth pack and Mercy had told them about a few nice memories he had of the pack. The kits were not only allowed to talk about their birth packs, they were encouraged to hold onto and remember their old primaries with fondness.

* * *

Dick strokes Malicia's hair, smooth and glossy after his thorough combing. "I don't know what I'd do if I didn't have you to talk to," she says morosely.

"What about Laurent?" Dick asks. He wouldn't have survived the hard fade without his friends. With as fast his bonds fade, he'd thought a hard fade would be no worse than any other. He was wrong. Apparently, just like sex happens in the head, bonds do too. Thankfully, he'd gone into a state of hibernation that made it possible to survive a major bodily shutdown. His friends had taken turns marking him up, and holding him and Mal.

"It's different with him," Mal says. "He gets uncomfortable when I complain about Aiden. And he doesn't like to talk about what happened with Knuckles. He wants to look forward. Just grieve and move on. He doesn't want to think about 'what ifs'."

Laurent's told Dick that he thinks Mal wouldn't have allowed herself to grieve as she did, if Dick hadn't been hit so hard by Knuckles' death. They'd found Dick in his nest. Mal had crawled into the nest, slotted herself against his back, holding him, and laid there until she too succumbed to the void. When they came back to life, many things had changed. Topper and Jitterbug were more serious, having lost several people they loved. Marshall too had lost loved ones, but wasn’t around as much because of his infatuation with his new, adopted kit-siblings. Mar had gone off to college and wasn’t around as often, and since he wasn’t, neither was Aiden. Everyone had stopped by to visit frequently, spending some time with their grief-hibernating friends, and at all times a Hale had been there, even if Laurent couldn’t be present.

"What hypotheticals are we talking about?" Dick asks and leans back against the wall. Mal follows leaning her back against his chest and letting him wrap his arms around her.

"Like, what if I had mated him? I don't want to say this in case you're hurt by it, but not mating him so I could wait for you wasn't an easy or natural choice. I love you, but I've loved him since forever. I go into black moods sometimes, then I get bitter and spiteful and I can't help it. I'm angry almost all the time. And Knuckles got me. Of all the people I know, he was the least bitter and the most patient. I saw him soon after he stopped coming to the Sanctuary. I was so mad at him. I, I, I hit him. I'm not proud of it, okay? I'm not. But I was so mad at him for leading me on. But he just took it. He barely even protected himself except for deflecting what could have been serious hits. I yelled at him. I yelled 'How could you stop loving me?!'” Mal twists her neck so she can look at Dick. “Even you promised me that Knuckles wouldn't ever stop loving me, remember?" 

"He never did."

Mal faces forward again. "I know. He said something bad and unforeseen had happened in his pack. He asked me to give him 10 years, he said that he and Marcel were working to make the pack a place where we'd all be happy, but they weren't strong enough yet. He said to hold on and to join you when you presented. He said that in a decade we could have a peaceful pack merger, and we'd be free to create the future we wanted. I was skeptical. I told him I doubted you'd ever agree to become a Bolton. He looked at me in that way, you know, when he wasn't smiling, but one of his cheeks dimpled in amusement? And he asked me what was most important. A name, or to feel a bond to someone I love sink deep below my skin to become part of me."

"He was playing a long game…" Dick muses. "But he hadn't foreseen that they'd betray their allies…" He hasn’t told anyone that he killed Knuckles. He thinks he'll take that secret to the grave.

"Yeah… I keep thinking about it. And I keep thinking of what would have happened if I'd have mated him…"

"He told me that it would have been worse,” Dick tells her, snuffling her hair gently. “He said he'd have had to push you away. He was so protective of all of us… If you two had gotten mated, don't you think that one of the big packs would have sniped you, if you'd warned us what was going to happen?"

"Laurent said he'd have done it himself if nobody else would have. I keep thinking about that because he's trying so hard to keep the sibling love between us. He really doesn't want to spoil it by having sex with me, but he’d still do it if he had to. I don’t want that either, but unlike him, I have moments when I don’t care and―" Mal waves a hand dismissively in front of herself. "None of that matters. I know you don't know as much as us about how bonds work, but even if another pack had saved me from having to fight on the Boltons' side in the war, the mating bond would have remained. I wouldn't have loved him any less. I might have been angry and bitter if he'd mistreated me or pushed me away, but I've loved that stupid asshole for a decade. A few months of mistreatment wouldn't have given me wanderlust. A new pack bond doesn't wipe away mating bonds. And now I'm stuck amongst people who consider all the Boltons vile, traitorous people who got what they deserved, and people who are feeling betrayed by him despite knowing he had no choice. If you hadn't sniped him and the Boltons taken him back, I think our friends might have felt that way too. Especially Marshall and the Jayhawks. Now, when they talk about him at all, they call him Knuckles Roman and think of him as a fallen ally. And I just… I miss him. I miss being his Raven."

Dick hugs her tighter. Laurent was right. If she'd mated Knuckles and been stolen into another pack she would have been forced to go through a hard fade alone, hiding how she felt. Now the only bond that had been ripped was a friendship bond and she had still mourned so hard she'd crawled into bed with Dick and died for months. Apparently, Mar and Laurent had a fight about that. Mar wanted to bring her back (somehow?) right away but Laurent wouldn't let him. Laurent had said to Mar that the reason she's cold and hard is that she was in constant denial of her grief, so they should let her take the time she needed. And if she never came back, it was her choice. Laurent had told Dick all this.

"He called you Raven?" Dick asks.

"Yeah. Only when we were alone. He called Laurent Bluebird," Mal answers, softly smiling.

"He called me Little Bird."

Mal giggles. "He should see you now. You're so tall he'd have to call you Big Bird." Dick hit a growth spurt when he woke up from the void. He’s not as tall as Mal makes it sound like, but he’s no longer so short it’s noteworthy.

Laurent hadn't told him everything that went down while Dick was out. Mercy had told Dick that Laurent had nearly ended his friendship with Mar when Mar had tried to do what he wanted to do to Malicia, to Dick. But because Dick's a Juvie Laurent had stopped it. Mar has a knife scar on his cheek to prove it. Dick doesn't know what 'it' is, but since his age has something to do with it he's guessing it's sex. Dick feels flattered that Mar would fuck him, knowing how Mar feels about sex.

"He remembered me from when I was six years old. I was so small that he mistook my age for three or four. I think I'll always be Little Bird to him," Dick says with a smile.

Mal chuckles, then heaves a sigh and twists around to curl up with her cheek against his chest. He loves that his growth spurt allows him to hold her like this, being as much of a big, strong, protective Alpha as he could wish. He'll never be compact like Knuckles, Marshall and the Williamses, but he is lean, strong, and taller than the tough little O in his embrace. "Any time I start feeling normal I remember I will never see him again," Mal complains.

"Of course, you will, dearest." Soon after Dick woke up from the abyss he'd received an offer to join the Hales by the Main and Patriarch themselves. It was a tempting offer. But he'd turned it down because of the beautiful woman in his arms. They'd respected his reasons. But he no longer needs to pay rent. Laurent, Mal and a few other Hales often sleep over, and Dick keeps his ear to the ground and reports anything that might be of interest to the Hales. He's a full Siderunner with all the perks that come with it.

"No, I won't. He's probably running with the Boltons now and will be forever out of reach," Mal pouts.

"If he is, I'll go to the underworld and challenge Maluk himself to get him back," Dick promises. Malicia looks up at Dick. Dick smiles and caresses her shoulder. "What? You don't believe me?" he asks. "I'll swear a blood oath to Donarrion that whatever happens, I'll make sure Knuckles runs with us in the afterlife." Donarrion might have been Dick’s favourite god based on the holidays, but Aiden’s right - Donarrion is a fitting god for Dick. 

Malicia smiles and whispers, "Thank you…" silently.

Dick bends his neck to capture her lips in one of those forbidden kisses they share sometimes. A chaste, soft, lingering kiss that fills him with butterflies. It's just a few seconds before they both pull back with a content sigh and giggle at each other for sighing at the same time. It doesn't matter that they share a kiss like this once every month or even less frequently. It's enough for Dick to keep his eyes on the target. He's going to mate this woman and he's going to make her happy.

One thing is good, at least. Since he woke from his hibernation he hasn't had a single fever. He's no longer as curious about sex either. He guesses it means that whatever was wrong with his repulsion has gotten a bit better…

* * *

Laurent is alone by their table at the Sanctuary. Dick had been surprised when a Hale had told him this is where Laurent could be found this early already. Normally, Laurent’s working at this time of the day. Laurent lies on the couch, halfway down with most of his body drooping off it like he’d melted where he sat and simply flowed down the couch to the floor. He’s got his eyes closed and a hand pressed over his nose and lips. Dick’s pulse elevates in worry and he hurries to get to his friend’s side, until he comes close enough to smell Laurent. Laurent’s _happy_. Dick thinks maybe he’s just taken a few too many downers, but when Laurent hears him approach he opens his eyes and they’re clear and alert. He chirps a joyful greeting and Dick can’t help but to smile.

“Laurent, dear, that’s neither how to sit nor lie on a couch,” Dean says with a little smirk.

Laurent removes his hand from his face to scramble back to a normal sitting position. He grins so wide his smile goes gummy and Dick makes an involuntary little chirp of delight about whatever put a smile that radiant on Laurent’s face.

“Dicky, you sorry workaholic, you missed him!” Laurent says and pats the space beside himself on the couch.

“Missed who?” Dick says as he obediently slides onto the couch.

Laurent grins a shiteating grin and puts his arm around Dick to pull him close. “Oh nobody. Just the most fantastic, wonderful, funny, smart, incredible Omega to ever set foot in New York City. Dick, meet Arvid, Mar’s future mate,” he says and puts his other hand cupped against Dick’s nose. Inside his hand, he’s holding a handkerchief soaked in sweat and secretion.

Dick breathes in deeply through his nose. “Oh my. He _is_ handsome.”

“He really is,” Laurent purrs. “He came to NY, spent days fucking Mar at campus, then spent a full day here before he had to go back to the front. We talked all night and he’s so… so…” He lets out a lovestruck sigh.

"Is this the man you said wouldn't mate you?"

"Yeah…"

"But have you asked him if he could consider mating you?"

Laurent huffs an awkward laugh and squirms in his seat. "No? Yes? Kinda, but not really? I've joked about it. I've dropped some stupid comment like, 'Hey, we're so good together, we should get mated!' and then I've panicked so hard I've backpedalled straight through the wall behind me. But he belongs to Mar anyway so it wouldn’t be right…" He waves his hand dismissively, sniffs the handkerchief and holds it to Dick's nose again, eager to share his crush. Dick likes the scent. If a scent can be described as 'cheeky', this one is.

Dick ignores the part about the O belonging to Mar. You can have several mates, after all. "Have you tried courting him?"

Laurent laughs. "Dick, I sell drugs for a living. I court _everyone._ "

"Oh, that reminds me." Dick takes out a few dollars from his pocket. "If you could part with a few uppers?"

"Put that money away. Here. I'll give you some. You don't have to pay, silly."

“No, no, I mean I want to take them with me,” Dick says and insistently holds out the money.

Laurent chuckles and holds out the drugs. “Yeah. I got that. Put that money away. I’m not taking it.”

Dick grumbles a bit when he puts the money away but takes the drugs and puts them in a small pillbox he keeps on his person. “Thank you, dear.” He's discovered that when his heart slows down to the point where it's hard to get a good rhythm even by running, an upper will work to kick-start it. It happens sometimes but he doesn't want to worry his friends by telling them how hard it can be to get his heart to beat properly. It doesn't happen _that_ often anyway.

“Stop asking all the time. We’re friends, okay? I’m not going to let you pay whether you get high with or without me.”

Dick leans in and rubs his temple and cheek affectionately against Laurent. “Thank you, dear. Now will you tell me everything about this marvelous Arvid of yours?”

Laurent’s back to grinning and sniffing the handkerchief. He lets Dick take another sniff then settles in with an arm around Dick. "He's… I don't know, Dick, I think I've never met anyone who understands me the way he does. I… I'm dying. I know that. And I had accepted that. But then Mar realised that I only had a short amount of time left, and he couldn't accept it, so he took me to a doctor. That bought me a lot of extra time, but we don't know exactly how much. And I've still accepted that my time is limited. I count every new day as a blessing and I'm grateful for every new experience and every good thing that happens to me. I shake off tragedy better than anyone because I _accept it_. And Arvid’s the same. He might have mastered it even better than I have. We both have the attitude that this is our life, at any given moment."

"Oh dear. If I had that attitude, I would have died a long time ago. I'm certain I’ve survived when I shouldn't have, out of pure spite and defiance."

Laurent chuckles. "I know. Just like Mal. She gets hit so hard by tragedy. If she didn't get so mad, I think she might have lost the battle against her depression. That's why I'm so grateful you came into our lives. You always manage to lift her spirit."

Dick feels himself blushing. "She gives me a pleasant goal to work towards. But, please, tell me more about your Arvid. If I ever get the chance to meet him, I'd like to feel like he's an old friend."

Laurent chirps and tweets in delight then launches into a session of pure gushing about the Swedish mercenary, passing the handkerchief back and forth so Dick too gets to know the scent intimately. Dick purrs an all-is-well and tries to memorize the scent. He doesn't say anything, but he thinks that he might have found the Main his pack needs. Maybe Arvid is the answer to how to pry the two Williams brothers from their pack as well? He hasn't given up on the idea that all of them will one day run in the same pack…

* * *

They never see Mar anymore and Dick couldn't be happier. Marlon's become a father and spends every moment he isn't in school, at home with his kit. Dick's seen him once since Anna was born. Mar radiated such joy and pride it set Dick's heart soaring. One would think it isn't such a big deal to Dick, but it is. Mar is the kind of parent Dick had trouble believing exists no matter how much his friends assure him his own parents are the outliers.

Dick's always working. He doesn't know how much time he has before he presents, but he knows what area he wants to live in with his pack so he's saving his money. He uses some of it to buy gifts for Mal since he's still courting her. He only goes to the Sanctuary once or twice a month, but he still sees his friends frequently, popping by where they work when he takes a break. His Hale friends often stop by his place to visit late evenings when he's back home. Laurent and Mal sleep over sometimes and if Mal has a certain look on her face when they meet, Dick will scratch everything on his to-do list to make sure she can vent.

He's got a seasonally bound work schedule. City Hall closes over the summer and one month during mid-winter. During that time very little gets done when it comes to approving applications of any kind. So during the summer Dick networks, practices (struggles with) math, chases whatever job he can find and prepares for autumn when it's time to do taxes. He works on his tax scheme during autumn evenings and the winter. During autumn mornings to middays he helps refugees file applications and works as an interpreter. At the break of the new year all taxes are filed and City Hall is closed. Then he takes whatever jobs he can find and does a lot of paid reading since many religions seem to have holidays during the most dreary time of the year. He's figured out he gains an advantage by not working with applications during the time City Hall is closed even though there are still people willing to pay for help. Because he lets his competition work during the breaks, his own fail-rate goes down to a minimum and his reputation precedes him. So when he's working the docks and refugee camps, he gets first choice if he doesn't get there too late in the morning.

Today, he's visiting the Sanctuary for a well-deserved break. He and Mal have been dancing for hours when an unexpected presence grabs them both and pulls them close, locking them against a broad and heavenly smelling chest by sturdily hooking arms around their necks. "Hey, darlings. You know I don't want to spoil your party, but it's time to hydrate," Aiden says with one of his advertising-worthy lopsided smirks. His canines are teethed and he's flaring with low luminance. Dick hates how weak his knees get when Aiden's doing that up-close. Aiden looks from Dick to Malicia and cheekily bends down to bite her shoulder lightly.

Mal laughs and swats playfully at Aiden. "Stop it, you horndog."

"Hey, you're in Heat. What do you expect?" Aiden counters with his trademark smirk.

"Wouldn't it be better to deep-purr her if you want to knot her?" Dick asks sardonically. He makes it out to be snark, but in reality, he wants to know.

"Look, I like getting black eyes as much as the next guy," Aiden jokes innocently and dodges another playful swat with a snigger. "You want to know a little trick, Dicky? Bite them playfully on the shoulder. Keep doing it until they're as horny as you and they'll be gagging to get it on with you without any purring whatsoever. Doesn't even matter if they're Alphas or Omeg― _ouff!_ " He doubles over when Mal jabs her elbow in his belly. He stands up grinning right away, showing she didn't really hurt him.

“I’ll be gagging alright,” Mal says and makes a gesture of sticking fingers in her throat to throw up.

Aiden laughs it off with a wink to Mal and puts his arms around both their shoulders again starting to steer them away from the dance floor. “We’ll see about that. Right now you two need to get some liquid in you. Come on, you dance junkies.”

Dick loves it when Mal and Aiden get along. Sometimes he forgets that the two of them coexist peacefully most of the time because when they don't, their undercurrent of conflict is like static in the air.

When they get to their table their little gang isn't alone. Jennifer Crohn is sitting on Laurent's lap, knotted together. It's a polite knotting and the two of them are fully engaged in the conversation going on at the table. Marshall has a stunning O from the Mings under his arm, and Buck's accompanied by a Cavelli Alpha called Madden. Dick's never met him in person before but he knows the guy because Buck's talked about him and introduced his scent. She likes him and considers him to be a possible mate.

Right now they're all laughing at something.

Laurent chirps when he sees who Aiden is bringing to the table. "Guess what?" he calls out. "I'm immortal!" The group laughs and Laurent sniggers impishly. He's rosy-cheeked and glossy-eyed from intoxication.

"How did you come to that conclusion?" Aiden asks as they take their seats. Aiden pulls Mal down beside himself while Dick sits down beside Madden and Buck. There are already two pint-glasses of fruit juice waiting for them that quickly get put in front of Mal and Dick.

"The doctor said I would live long enough to get mated, right? But I don't want to get mated just to get mated. And I've got four persistent crushes, none of which I can mate since two of them are Alphas, one a Juvie, and one a Merc working for the damned Union. In conclusion, I'm never going to get mated and therefore I will never die," Laurent giggles. With how funny most of them find it, Dick concludes most of them have taken downers. Dick's tried a downer once. It's on the top ten of scariest moments in his life. His body doesn't need any help calming down and his heart had slowed to a crawl, body temperature dropping. He'd hidden how he'd reacted until a few days afterwards when he'd asked Laurent to never give him any again, or anyone else who’s scentless for that matter.

"Juvie? Our Dick's one of your crushes?" Aiden asks and sips his beer, looking at Laurent with keen eyes and a slightly troubled wrinkle between his eyebrows despite his smile.

Laurent laughs. "Isn't that obvious? But I can't mate a Juvie and then he'll present as an Alpha so I still can't mate him. Hence, immortal."

Aiden laughs along then takes another deep swallow of his beer, eyes shifting from Laurent to look at Dick over the rim of his glass. Dick thinks he looks strangely worried.

A while later Aiden and Mal are gone. Dick’s been engaged in a conversation with Madden and Buck, and hadn’t paid Mal and Aiden any attention. Now he looks around and spots them by a pillar not too far away. Malicia has her legs wrapped around Aiden, her back leaned against the pillar and her wide dancing-skirts bunched up at the waist as Aiden fucks her, bathing her face in red from his strong flare. "Oh dear," Dick says feeling jealous of both of them, as well as excited at the sight. "This isn't some kind of bet, is it?"

Marshall shakes his head. "Nope. Just one of those lucky nights they forget to remember that they don't get along."

Dick wonders if he's going to have to listen to Mal beat herself up about falling for Aiden's charms later. Right now she certainly looks pleased to have the red-eyed Alpha around. Aiden might knot many Os, but he’s good to them. Not necessarily in the way Mar used to be good back when he’d have sex with Os for the sake of others―focusing solely on giving them as much pleasure as possible. Aiden’s not preoccupied with his own pleasure or anything like that, but he isn’t making the Os pleasure his only goal. No, what Aiden does so well is that he’s sweet and attentive to his O, whether she stays by his side the whole night or only sticks around long enough for his knot to go down. Dick’s sure tonight there will be no Mal-Aiden related drama. “Huh. I didn’t even notice they were flirting,” he says and blinks in surprise when everyone at the table erupts in laughter.

“You mean you didn’t notice the smell of horny in the air?” Marshall asks.

“All of you are always horny,” Dick counters to be met with more laughter.

“Dick, they were _right there_ ,” Jitterbug sniggers and points. “He was eating her out like a champ. I had to hold my hand over her mouth because she was keening so loud I couldn’t hear my own voice.”

“I see. I didn’t notice,” Dick responds.

“Dick, I swear I’ve never met anyone as wilfully oblivious as you,” Marshall laughs.

It's the upper Dick's taken. He gets hyper-focused. That's why Aiden had to come to get him and Mal from the dance floor, to begin with. Dick's been swept up in a discussion with Madden Cavelli. The man has the longest eyelashes Dick's ever seen on an Alpha and he's got a lot of interesting stories to tell. He came to America from Egypt as a young Juvie (as an immigrant, not a refugee) and had moved around a lot before he came to New York. So Dick's been too focused on the Alpha to pay attention to anything else.

"Perhaps. But could anyone explain why she was keening if he was chewing her out?" Dick asks.

It takes several minutes for the group to stop laughing and for someone to explain what it means to eat someone out.

* * *

It's a good evening. Mal and Aiden are back at the table, Mal tucked under Aiden's arm while they participate in the general conversation. Everyone’s happy and relaxed, and most of them have laughed enough tonight to have mild pain in their stomach muscles.

But then Marshall looks at Aiden and asks, “Is Marlon coming tonight?” It’s a valid question. You can have Mar without Aiden but you rarely get Aiden without Mar.

The smile on Aiden's face falters and he starts smelling of anxiety. "No. He. ...uh. He's gone."

"What do you mean? Did something happen to him?" Laurent asks worriedly.

Aiden chuckles awkwardly. "No, no. Nothing like that. He, uh. Do you remember Nceba? The girl Mar was in love with when he was a Juvie, that presented and moved away? She came back to visit her family. He ran into her and they reconnected. They're mated now and he followed her when she went back home."

Mal purrs soothingly at Aiden. Marshall coos something about it being nice that Marlon's found someone, but Dick can't hear for the sudden ringing in his ears. He can't breathe. It feels like he's been body-slammed by a draft horse, his chest caved in and nausea is threatening to make his stomach turn. Something big and important inside of him shatters, a vital foundation he wasn't aware of, splintering into a million pieces.

Dick's not sure how long it takes before he remembers the mechanics of breathing. A few seconds? Minutes? It's impossible to say. "Marlon abandoned his kit," he says.

Aiden's gaze jumps to Dick. "What? No, of course not. Anna's not abandoned. Her other moms and dads are still there."

"But you've said Marlon is her father. You are all sure of that. And he's left her," Dick argues.

"Yes, but―"

"Excuse me," Dick interrupts Aiden and scrambles to get away. He hears his name being called but Marlon's betrayal hits him over and over with every beat of his heart, numbing him with shock.

* * *

Dick doesn't want to talk about it. Marlon promised he wouldn't let Dick die. He's a Packrunner and he _broke a promise_. He left. How can he uphold a promise if he left? He can't. Packrunners lie as often as anyone, but they never break promises. Except, apparently, they do.

And Marlon had been the one to most heatedly argue that no parent should or would abandon their kit, that there was something wrong with Dick's parents. Then he abandons his own kit. He didn't even stick around a full year.

Dick's friends can see something's wrong with him. They try to talk to him but he shoots them down. Their arguments, meant for comfort, fall apart in the face of the glaring evidence of Marlon's absence. So one by one they stop trying. Laurent is the least persistent. He simply says that Mar will explain himself when he comes back. Laurent’s 100% certain Marlon will come back. Laurent has what Dick so devastatingly lost: Faith.

It's ruined more than just Dick’s trust for Marlon. His sense of self-worth is staggering as from a hard blow. If someone as perfect (according to Mar) as Anna has no value, then what does Dick have in comparison? Nobody can tell Dick's self-worth is diminished since he's so angry he acts as if he owns the world. 

Unlike when Knuckles died, Dick isn't petrified by grief, but he's starting to struggle with his health again, worse than before. He starts spacing out more often. His body temperature suddenly drops with no prior warnings. His heart slows down, bringing fatigue and shortness of breath. He quickly sets out to counter it whenever it happens, but it keeps happening at an increasing rate. He hides it as well as he can from his friends. He’s always nervous they’ll notice. Like now, when Mal’s come to spend the night. It’s a luxury to lie naked with her like this, her head on his chest and his arm around her. He’s afraid his heart will slow down when she’s got her ear pressed to his chest like this. It never does, but he fears that if it did, she might start having second thoughts of waiting for him. It’s the carrot on a fishing rod, held in front of a mule pulling a great weight - knowing she’s waiting, planning for bonding with her and Laurent. And the Arvid guy Laurent likes so much, whenever he comes around again.

“Was it like you imagined?” Dick asks. “Being with Aiden,” he clarifies.

Mal groans. “Why did you have to bring that up? Can’t we just pretend it never happened?”

“That bad, huh?"

"What? _No._ But now I feel like a user. As if he doesn't have to deal with enough people who sleep with him only for his eyes."

"Oh my. That is an unexpected angle."

Mal huffs a little humourless laugh. "I guess. I apologized to him the next time he came around. He laughed at me and asked why I apologized when he was the one to come on to me. Then he got all concerned and asked if he'd done something wrong that I didn't like. I wanted to punch him."

Dick sniggers. "That's a pretty common feeling for you to have. I'm wondering how many times I've come close to getting myself punched?"

Mal giggles. "You're surprisingly unpunchable. Although, there was that one time when you would have died if Knuckles hadn't been there to turn you over."

"Oh dear. I suppose getting to wash puke off my clothes was a bit of a bother. I’m sorry about that.”

Mal giggles and gives him a stinging slap on the pec. “No, dummy, I’m talking about you almost dying. I’ll kill you if you die on me, okay?”

Dick sniggers, teething his canines in a grin. This is why he isn’t telling his friends how badly his health is deteriorating. He doesn’t want them to worry. “I wouldn’t want that. But, if you apologised, why are you still feeling bad?”

Mal sighs. “Remember when you revealed how Mar felt about sex and Aid ran out of there? I followed him just to see him have a complete breakdown, emptying his guts in the restrooms. He was shaking. Literally. He felt so bad because he’s been subjected to some pretty heavy sexual harassment when he was a Juvie. Not just gross people asking him when he’d present like I’d seen, but real, physical comeons. You never met him as a Juvie but he looked like a man, not a Juvie. And people when they were drunk off their asses or high as kites sometimes didn’t register the Juvie marker. For instance, he told me of a time someone attached themselves to his ear gland and shoved a hand down his pants.”

“Didn’t he skunk?”

“Yes, and he punched the guy so hard he laid him out flat. But that’s not the point. The point is, like 99.99% of Juvies will never ever experience anything remotely like it. Just take Mar. When he was still a kit or Juvie and someone he was talking to tried to have sex to the point of it interfering with the conversation, he’d just make a grab for the Alpha’s dick or balls and it would instantly kill the erection.”

“He did?” Dick laughs. 

Mal sniggers. “Yeah. I bet he was annoyed when he presented and it stopped working. But he isn’t like most people and Aid _is_. So Aiden was made uncomfortable anytime someone came on to him. He’d still milk it. I know he did, because I often saw adults ask him when he was going to present because they wanted to sleep with or mate him. He’d give them the same flirty smirk he always uses and say something like, ‘I don’t know, but if you’re nice enough to me and my friends, I might tell you when it happens.’ And they’d buy us drinks to get on his good side.”

“But you can get the drinks for free since you’re Hales?” Dick points out with an upward lilt to his voice, making it a question.

“Yeah. But when Aiden’s around we don’t have to. He gets his orders for free in the bar, but mostly he’ll fish for someone else to pay. He’s really good for business.”

“I didn’t know that. I thought he always just went and got things for free in the bar.”

“No… Like I said, he could, but he doesn’t. Anyway, when I apologised I brought up how he’d been used as a Juvie, but he told me that when he presented it was the opposite for him. He loves sex and suddenly it was like people throwing free candy at him when they came on to him. He claims he doesn’t feel used. But I can’t help but feel that maybe he’s a bit like Laurent. Conditioned to think his value is based on whether he has sex with people or not. And that makes me a bad person for not saying no to him, further enabling his misconception.”

“Maybe he just wanted physical comfort from someone he knew very well in the wake of Mar leaving? He isn’t a casual cuddler and you _have_ been there for him in vulnerable moments in the past.”

Mal’s quiet for a moment. “You… you might be right? I don’t know, but it fits. Aiden’s not exactly the touchy-feely, talk-things-out type of person. It just seems strange he’d pick me.”

Dick hums. “He usually doesn't fool around with anyone in the rat pack, but if he was seeking emotional comfort it makes sense to pick one of us. Buck was there with her prospective mate so picking you seems like the logical choice if he wanted an O.”

“I prefer your explanation to mine. Then at least, I’m not a scum-of-the-earth kind of user.”

Dick chuckles. “Then we’ll settle on that. ….Was it good?”

Mal hesitates then deflates with a dreamy sigh. “Fantastic. Aid knows what he’s doing.”

Dick chuckles again, jealous of not being the one causing that dreamy sigh and praise, jealous of not being the one to experience the cause. He still doesn’t know who he should be jealous of.

“So…” Mal says. “Are you ready to talk about why you ran out when Aid told us Mar’s gone?”

“No. Not for years, dear. Not for years.”

Mal respects that and thankfully changes the topic.

* * *


	15. Courier Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick and Aiden butt heads. Then kiss and make up... ;)

* * *

"Fine. But then you go tell Aiden Williams I'm not his messenger boy, and this is the last time he's wasted my time. The next time he wants something he can take his pompous, self-important ass down to the slums himself. I'm never doing him any favours ever again." Dick's practically boiling as he turns around to leave.

The guard grabs Dick's shoulder but recoils when Dick spins around growling, knife in hand. "Wait. Let me make a call to check the information you gave. One minute."

Dick stops and gives him a contemptuous look. "You could have done that right away. I'll give you three minutes before I go."

The guard goes into his booth and comes back within a minute to open a smaller door in the portal big enough to admit horse carts. "You can go in. Mr. Williams is in the Alpha House."

Dick gives him one last disgusted look before entering. Ten minutes of arguing for something that could have been cleared in a minute. Dick isn't bothering with a thank you. A minute later he regrets not being a bit more polite. The college campus is huge, not just a courtyard and one fairly large building like the schools he'd seen. There’s a gigantic building that's four stories high, with wings angling away from the entrance he just came through. There are two other big (but smaller) buildings beyond that one. One of them looks to be a sports center, the other he can't even guess. There are other, smaller buildings, like three Victorian houses. Beyond the complex, there's a sports field and beyond that a forest with an obstacle course. 

Dick's standing on a road across from a well-tended lawn with benches and crisscrossing walkways that lead up to the main building. People move about and Dick reaches out an arm to stop a bypasser without looking at them, still gazing at his surroundings. "Excuse me. Could you tell me how to get to the Alpha house?" he asks and finally turns his head to look at the man. He nearly recoils in fright, barely stopping himself from taking off at a sprint. Aside from a twitch, he hides his emotional response behind a pleasant smile. He recognises the man giving him a wide, friendly smile in return. Last time Dick saw him, Dick was running for all his worth to get away from the guy. Back then the man had worn sturdy boots, worker’s pants and a leather jacket, now he’s in slacks, white shirt and a tie under a sweater-vest. He’s carrying a leather satchel on a strap over his shoulder and a big book titled ‘Geotechnical Engineering’. It’s a startling contrast to what Dick had always presumed a Snatcher did when he wasn’t out kitnapping people.

“Sure,” the lemon-eyed Snatcher says. He isn’t flaring now, though. His eyes are grey-green and friendly. He points beyond Dick. “See those three houses over there? It’s the one to the left.”

Dick barely dares take his eyes off the Snatcher, but it would seem weird if he didn’t. Maybe the guy hasn’t recognised him? It’s not as if the guy could take him here without being discovered. Dick braves a look. The guy is pointing at the Victorian houses. “Ah. I see. The house with the 7-foot ‘A’ prominently displayed on the front wall. I never would have suspected,” Dick says drily, feeling foolish.

The Snatcher chuckles. “Are you a new student?” he asks.

“Not yet,” Dick answers then reminds himself of Knuckles’ warning. He shouldn’t dream. Yet he does. Going to college, getting a good career, having a future, staying _alive_. He looks back at the smiling Snatcher. “I must be on my way. Thank you for the help, and have a good day.” He gives the man a little wave and turns to beeline for the Alpha House.

He doesn’t make it far before the man calls out to him. “Hey, Skippy? Nice to see you’re still alive and kicking.”

Dick turns around, heart lodging in his throat. The Snatcher grins, flares lemon and winks, then turns to keep walking the way he was heading. The friendliness gives Dick the creepy-crawlies. It’s how he got captured that first time. Naively drawn to the friendly kindness like a fish to the worm on a hook. He shudders then hurries to the Alpha house, looking over his shoulder several times.

As he’s closing in on the big house he can smell Aiden’s markings. Several people have marked the house and its perimeter, but Aiden’s markings are the most prominent. The annoyance Dick felt about his mission comes back full force. He tries the handle. It’s unlocked so he walks right in. He enters into a large common area, with sofas and comfortable armchairs to the right and a large, open space to the left where several Alphas are playing darts. The stairs are straight ahead and behind them there’s a door that leads to the kitchen. Alphas are reading or talking on the armchairs and sofas, but Dick picks up a fresh trail of Aiden leading towards the stairs so he sets his course towards them with a determined stride.

An Alpha steps in front of him, blocking his path. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Up," Dick answers and takes a step around the Alpha to keep going.

“You can’t just waltz in here as if you own the place,” the Alpha says and sidesteps to block Dick’s way again.

This time Dick halts to take in the expensive suit, the aristocratic posture and the star pinned to the lapel. “It would seem I just did, dear. My business isn’t with you, so you may…” he makes a dismissive gesture, motioning for the Alpha to move out of his way.

The Alpha scowls. “Don’t you know who I am? I’m Arnwald Rumsfeldt the third, son to Arnwald Rumsfeldt the second, one of the most prominent men of New York. I’m the number one in my class, the valedictorian of my year at Rothschild's school, I've started both the Rumsfeldt Starborn Homeless shelter and the Rumsfeldt Charity golf tournament. You should take care to treat me with respect."

Even if Dick wasn't in a bad mood he would've gotten annoyed. The Rumsfeldts are a family that has made a lucrative business out of preying on the unfortunate. Yes, they have charities like shelters and soup kitchens (that Dick's been barred from because of his scentlessness), but only a fraction of the money they gather from their charity events goes to these things. Most goes straight to lining their pockets.

Dick looks around to find everyone looking. Nobody appears hostile, only curious. "Dear me," he says. "Let's clarify something in case my clothes don't give it away. I was born under an upturned cart by the docks and I live in the slums." He looks back at Rumsfeldt. "Yet you're the one giving me your resumé and listing your credentials, desperately trying to convince me you outrank me." He gives Rumsfeldt a pitying smile. "You're not very successful, dear."

The room erupts in howls, wolf whistles and laughter. Startled, Dick realises that none of the Alphas is hostile. Some are hollering playful taunts, but they’re directed at Rumsfeldt, not him. One of the Alphas, an attractive man with a playful glint in his slanted, black eyes, who’s sitting on the couch next to where Dick’s standing, turns around to lean his elbows on the backrest, letting his book dangle loosely from his grasp, and… deep-purrs. 

...While looking at Dick. 

Dick’s never been so confused in his life. To hide his confusion and how he’s feeling flustered all of a sudden, Dick smirks and arches an eyebrow at him, trying to convey ‘In your dreams, buddy’. Knuckles had warned him he’d be treated like an adult if he went to college, but like this…?

Rumsfeldt, who’d smelled of lowkey anger, looks between Dick and the deep-purring Alpha, and starts to deep-purr too, anger melting away into nothing.

Dick’s heart races. Rumsfeldt does nothing for him, but the other Alpha? He gets this excited, tickling feeling low in his gut that he doesn’t understand. He’s heard Alphas deep-purr countless times before. Never for him, of course, since he’s a Juvie. This Alpha doesn’t know that. It’s still strange. Even if Dick knows Alphas fool around with each other, he’s never heard them deep-purr each other. The idea that this guy would jump to the conclusion that he’s an O is even more far-fetched with how rare male Os are. Maybe he’s just hopeful?

Dick’s saved from having to address the deep-purring by a familiar voice from above. “Richard!” Aiden calls out from the top landing of the stairs. Dick looks up to see the infuriatingly gorgeous Alpha come walking down with a big smile on his face and those entrancing eyes flaring red. 

Dick’s instantly ticked off, grasping his anger like a life-raft so as not to have to deal with all these confusing feelings caused by Alphas deep-purring him. “Aiden, you pompous, self-important, lazy, inconsiderate bastard,” Dick says, stopping Aiden in his tracks, making him blink in confusion. “Do I look like a messenger boy to you?” He doesn’t give Aiden the chance to respond. “My time is important, Aid. This is my busy season. In three weeks time City Hall closes for the summer and there goes my primary source of income for this half of the year. Not until autumn comes and it’s time to do taxes do I have a chance at collecting the same wages again. If you hadn’t been so arrogant and selfish I could have had the pick of the litter today. I could have handled five to ten clients in the time it took me to get here. But you decided to interrupt _my_ business, so you didn’t have to make the trip to get what _you_ want.” 

The room has descended into the vibrating silence that comes from people excitedly watching a scandalous event they don’t want to disrupt by making a sound.

Aiden’s eyes flit around to his housemates before going back to Dick. “You didn’t have to come. Laurent could have come himself,” he says sheepishly.

“Laurent also has a _real_ job, Aid. All the Hales do,” Dick growls. “You don’t think we’d prefer to laze around on a couch, reading?” he says and gestures at the first Alpha who’d deep-purred him, still leaning on the back of the couch with a book dangling in his hand. “We certainly would! But we _can’t_ because we need to _work_.” 

“I thought you worked evenings and nights?” Aiden asks with an insultingly confused expression.

For one reason or another, Dick’s never told Aiden what he does. The implications of what Aiden just said are infuriating. “What do you think I do? Pick pockets? Rob people? Burgle? _Beg?_ ” Aiden flushes a deep crimson and smells of sudden anxiety. He opens his mouth to answer, but the blush and anxiety are answer enough so Dick once again cuts him off. “Why, that is truly insulting, Aid. I would have expected you to think better of me.”

“But you said you taught yourself a trade…?”

“Yes. One that I’m certain you wouldn’t be able to manage even with your host of tutors,” Dick answers impatiently, unwilling to tell Aiden what he does in the face of the insult. “I’ve got talents and skills wasted on my part of the city but anytime I’ve tried to offer them to, _your kind_ ,” Dick looks disdainfully around the room, “who would have much better use of them, you’ve proved you hire with your noses instead of your brains.” He looks back at Aiden. “So I’m stuck grinding, squeezing lettuce out of those who have very little of it to begin with, instead of using my skills to your benefit. I’m one in a million, Aid, and you and your privileged peers have your heads stuck too far up your own asses to see it.”

There’s a hum of murmurs amongst the Alphas in the room as they start whispering amongst each other. One Alpha that had been standing in the back frees himself from the shadows to approach Dick deep-purring and flaring sunflower yellow. Again, it’s startling enough to draw Dick’s attention. The Alpha is short and smiling broadly. He stops close to Dick and offers his hand to shake. “Hi. I’m Jaeger Talon. Have you ever entertained the thought of moving to California? My pack and our companies are always looking for talented people with various, exceptional skills. If you’re as good at something as you say you are, I can guarantee you we have a position for you that would make the trade-off as lucrative for you as for us.”

“I’m not moving anywhere without my pack, so unless you can offer satisfying positions for them too, I’ll have to decline.”

“That’s not a problem if you join our pack. We take care of our own and there are always jobs available no matter where your talents or theirs lie,” Jaeger says with a lopsided smile that is as sly as it is charming. “We’re a big pack with many cells, so no matter how you prefer to live, we’ve got you covered. The climate is nice and warm, we’ve got lots of land both inland and by the coast. California is full of orchards and farmland, with lots of food despite the war. In Napa, you can find vineyards where some of the best wine on earth is made. If you prefer the bustling city life we’ve got cells in San Francisco, and our core home is in LA.”

Dick turns fully towards the Alpha, intrigued now. “Every pack specializes in something. What’s your pack’s speciality?”

“Entertainment. We make movies for the silver screen and own the leading labels in the music industry.”

“Music?” Dick’s mood takes a clear upswing. He’s never even considered leaving New York, but the idea of taking Laurent and Mal to another state to join a pack that specializes in music doesn’t seem so bad. And if they all three join another pack, the problem of finding another Main and Patriarch solves itself. Dick could challenge for rank once he’s presented and properly settled in.

Dick’s attitude-change spurs Aiden into action. He growls a possessive threat and takes the stairs three at a time. He straightens up to his full height, his flare intensifying, and bares his fangs at Jaeger as he approaches.

Jaeger withdraws, licking his lips in submission, but casts one last look at Dick with a sly smirk.

When Aiden comes in close to Dick, he makes himself smaller and licks his lips submissively. “I’m sorry for the inconvenience, Richard. It was thoughtless of me. I’ll make it up to you. I promise,” he says and puts a hand in the small of Dick’s back, holding out his other arm in a guiding motion towards the stairs. He’s bent down to show his deference, turning his head to look up at Dick. “Please, let’s go to my room where we can speak in private.”

Dick’s still angry, but he recognises the need for privacy to finish his mission. He narrows his eyes at Aiden briefly and starts walking in the indicated direction. As they walk up the stairs the conversation starts up again but Aiden ushers him up too fast for him to catch what's being said. 

The stairs continue up another floor but they get off at the middle floor and Aiden leads him to a room at the end of a corridor. It's bigger than Dick's whole apartment but has two beds and two desks and bookcases on either side. Aiden has a roommate but the scent on the roommate's side is faded as if he hasn't been there for a couple of days. When Aiden closes the door behind them Dick spins around to glare accusingly at him. “You didn’t even offer to pay.”

“I can pay. He never asked me to.”

“You know as well as I do that Laurent would never ask you to, but every time he gives it to us for free, he’s losing income. He’s head over heels for you, and wouldn’t dream of turning you down when you ask for _anything_ , and you’re using that without giving him anything in return. All the credit he’s giving you is for things you didn’t actually do. You’re just piggyback riding on Marlon’s actions. You’re taking advantage of people that care for you, Aiden. It’s unacceptable. The least you could do is fool around with him a bit and reward him for his devotion.”

“That would be playing with his feelings.”

“ _You already are_.”

Aiden holds up his hands in defeat and bends his neck.

Dick relents. "Look, if I didn't think you'd enjoy it, I wouldn't even suggest it. It would be hypocritical of me to argue against Mar forcing himself to have sex and then expect you to fool around with someone while having to dissociate."

"No, it's not a problem. I prefer Omegas and I'm more worried that he'd feel used if I sleep with him. But as you stated a while back, I'm, 'the most debased knothead'. I enjoy sex. I have very strong, affectionate feelings for Laurent. It wouldn't be a chore."

Dick winces. He has no memory of calling Aiden that. If he has, he's been unfair. Os are drawn to Aiden like moths to a flame. He treats them well whether he knots them or not. It would be harder for him to turn them down than to give them what they want. Dick's seen knotheads. They trail after Os deep-purring and won't give up when the Os say no, then act offended when the Os get pissed off. "So why don't you fool around with him?"

"Because of Mar. He adores Laurent. If I don't encourage Laurent he turns his attention to Mar and my little brother needs to be singled out and adored more than I do."

"Mar's gone. You think he'd be jealous?" Dick asks skeptically.

"Yes. He often is," Aid answers as if Mar was still around, willfully ignoring Mar’s absence.

"He's a grown man. He can handle it. Besides, if he knew how low Laurent’s self-esteem is he'd probably demand you spend time making him feel special."

"Laurent? Low self-esteem?"

"Yes. He sees himself as damaged goods because of what the sweet-sea sickness did to him. It doesn't help that everyone he admires and loves treats him like a useful dummy."

"That's not true."

Dick arches an eyebrow and pulls out the bag of uppers from the waistband of his pants. He holds it up pointedly.

Aiden looks at the floor, looking contrite. "He's not a dummy, and I don't consider him to be one. I made the request because of all the exams coming up before the end of the school year. It's easier to focus and stay up late to study. He feels used?"

"No. His low self-esteem makes him believe he isn't worthy of better treatment. But he is. I, however, feel used. I have maybe two years to gather enough money for an apartment in the upper East side that will require at least six months rent in advance from somebody scentless. I'll have a minimum of three people to provide for by the time I get that apartment, and I'll need to work as much as possible to provide for all that. I can't take days off during the peak season to deliver drugs. And unlike you, if I get arrested with this amount of drugs on me, they'll send me to jail and throw away the key."

Aiden takes out his wallet, removes a couple of notes and hands them over. "This ought to cover the drugs. It's more than the market value." He takes out a couple more notes and holds them out. "Does this cover your losses?"

"Not during busy season, no."

Aiden looks surprised for a beat then adds more money, making it a lot more than Dick could ever earn in a day, even at this time of year. For some reason, this makes Dick even angrier. He snatches the money from Aiden with a displeased twist to his mouth. He hides the money in different places - his boots, the leather cuffs on his wrists, his pockets, and then crosses his arms over his chest. "Very well. I should be going."

"Stay. Please." When Dick hesitates Aiden goes on talking. "So, you have a legal job. What do you do?"

"I don’t have time to stick around and chit-chat, Aid."

"No, no. Of course not. How about if I hire you?" Aiden answers a bit too hastily. He takes out more money from his wallet and hands it to Dick. 

Dick stares at the money in his hand. Aiden doesn’t even know what he does. Dick swallows and feels hurt for a reason he can't put his finger on. He glares at Aiden. "Are you paying for my company?"

"No! Yes!" Aiden runs his hands through his hair with a look of frustration, smelling of low-key anger and high anxiety. "We never get to spend time alone. I'd like to get to know you better."

"That’s no fault of mine. I can't visit you here due to the guards turning me away. And I can't visit you at home because, again, guards. But you know where I live. There are no guards to stop you from visiting me."

"Darn it, Richard! You're not giving me the option to do the right thing here. I'm happy you're here and I want you to stay. If you want to go, go. But if you leave solely because money's an issue, then it's not an issue. I'll pay for your services, whatever they may be, because I want your company and I don't want to inconvenience you further than I already have. I don’t see you as a… a…” Aiden doesn’t finish his sentence. He crosses his arms over his chest as if he’s hugging himself and looks away with lips compressed in anger, smelling both angry and a little sad, anxiety intensifying.

In the slums, there are Omegas who sell their bodies to Alphas for money and food. It’s an act of desperation, but it took a long time for Dick to realise the difference between ordinary courting and prostitution. To him, it looked like the same thing. Especially amongst Primals who have no qualms about having sex in public with strangers after only the most rudimentary courting. But the difference is huge. An O desperate enough to sell their body will say yes to anyone as long as she can stand their scent. The Alphas that are most likely to buy sex in the slums are the ones only one step up from the Os they’re buying from. They don’t smell prosperous and often have diseases or other conditions that would make other Os turn them down. Dick had been surprised to learn that uptown there’s also a booming business for sex. But there it happens in well-organized brothels and sex clubs and often it is a matter of kink or cheating, or simply Conservatives fulfilling their fantasies of having a Packrunner’s sex life.

Dick sighs. This isn’t about sex so he can’t understand why their minds went there. “So...” he looks around the room. “You have anything you need interpreted into another language? That’s my talent. I know many languages.” He walks over to the bookcase and curiously pulls out the math book.

Aiden’s anxiety drops though the other emotions remain unchanged. “Really? I thought you said you worked with taxes? I’m afraid that if I had you interpret schoolwork for me that would be cheating.” He chuckles when he sees what book Dick pulled out. “Don’t need any help with math, though. I can handle that without a problem all by myself. I’m good at it.”

“Dear me. That’s just as well. This is a language I _don’t_ understand.” Dick’s never seen math this complicated, with letters and symbols and weird compositions. “You have to know math at this level to get into college?” he asks dejectedly.

Aiden gives him an amused smile and shakes his head. He still smells angry and unhappy, but a little less. “No. Depends on your major. But I enjoy math. It’s clean. There’s a right answer, and a logical way to figure it out. It’s fun and relaxing. And at this level, it’s challenging too. I usually reward myself by solving a problem in that book when I’m studying something hard and have to take a break.”

Dick gives him a dubious yet impressed look. “Something hard, like what?”

“Difficile comme la langue française?” Aiden answers with a playful quirk to his lips and a raised eyebrow.

Dick smiles at the underhanded compliment. “I wouldn’t call French that hard. But I struggle with calculating percentages when I help business owners with their tax deductions, so I suppose it depends on where our talents lay,” he says and puts the book back. His finger traces the spines of other books as he reads their titles. Suddenly he stops and sucks in a breath. He pulls out two books. “Are these… Did… Did Marlon write these? _Our_ Marlon?”

Again, Aiden’s scent spikes with anger. It quickly fades into sadness. “Yes,” he answers with a smile. “He’s a very talented and passionate writer.” His scent doesn’t match his soft smile and expression. 

“You don’t like that he writes?” Dick asks and strokes the books reverently.

Aiden huffs. “I love it. I’m very proud of him. You want to have them? They’re yours. I can get new copies.”

“You’re giving me books?” Dick looks at Aiden with wide eyes.

Aiden frowns uncertainly. “If you want them? You… can read, right? Since you saw that he’s the writer you must have read his name?”

“Yes. Reading is part of my job.” Dick hugs the books to his chest. “Thank you.” He wants to run all the long way home and hide them somewhere safe until he can read them.

Aiden perks up. “You like books? What’s your favourite book?”

Dick can feel his cheeks colouring so he looks down at the spines of his new books. “I owned a book once. I inherited it from my father when he died. It was very old. It had been in mom’s family for generations. I didn’t particularly like its content, but it was my favourite book. It was an old copy of the scripture and it was destroyed when the Boltons blew up the Perlino Arch.” He looks up to see Aiden wearing a bemused expression. “I know it’s not what you meant, dear. You were wondering about the content. You’re curious if we have the same taste, something in common. But the phrasing is important. I haven’t read as many books as you may think. I read what people pay me to read. It’s usually news, letters, applications and forms, or religious texts. My favourite tales are those of Donarrion.”

“Then how did you learn to read in different languages?”

“You don’t need books for that. You need sand, or chalk and something to write on. The most comprehensive instruction I’ve received has been in Swedish. Most Swedes I’ve met are literate, and many also know a little bit of English, or Russian, or German, depending on where in Sweden they lived before they came here. School is free and mandatory in Sweden so the Swedes have books. It’s a bit funny because I learned to speak Russian from a Russian, but I learned to read and write it from a Swede. It’s also funny that I only speak a little Irish Gaelic though it was the language of my parents.” 

“I’d like to hear more about you. Come, let’s sit on the bed. Why haven’t you owned more books? I’d think someone who works as a reader would own loads.” Any sadness or anger in Aiden’s scent is gone, replaced by careful happiness and an expression of keen curiosity in his hazel-green eyes. 

They sit down side by side with their backs against the wall. Dick sets his new books beside him. “I’m a master of survival, dear. But not until I was chased into The Sanctuary by Snatchers and met you, did I truly thrive. My nests were often raided and I often had to abandon all my belongings with a moment’s notice to stay alive. Until I met you, the closest thing I had to a steady home was that room in the Perlino Arch. It was safe, because it was ten feet away from the core home of the Boltons, and they couldn’t get rid of me because they had the climbing skills of jellyfish.” Dick purrs when that makes Aiden snigger. “Having a home where my belongings are safe, and bonds that tell would-be thieves and employers I have people who care for me has changed my life. Books are heavy and fragile. Owning them wasn’t an option until now.”

"Did you have any when you lived in the Arch?"

"No. But every morning before dawn I'd go to the large printers of the two biggest newspapers. I'd get there as they were loading the day's newspapers onto wagons and trucks to deliver them. I'd steal one copy of both papers and run home to read them. Then, when people started to move about I'd do my rounds as a tidings kit. I had quite a collection of newspapers."

Aiden grins. "You must have been the most politically aware kit in the slums."

"Well. If Mar is right, which I'm convinced he is, I was the most aware of the propaganda they wanted people to believe. Both papers were Conservative, after all."

"Do you really believe that he's right?"

"Oh, I'm certain. I learned quickly that if I want my refugee clients to get their applications granted, they need to identify as Conservatives in any of their governmental dealings. Worst case, they can be Primals. But Packrunners and Progs are always declined after a long, pointless wait."

"I hate the thought that Mar is right. If he is, we might be looking at an oncoming civil war. The very idea terrifies me. I'm afraid to voice that thought to Mar. I get the feeling that he'd be chewing at the bit to get it going."

"Marlon is gone," Dick points out.

"He'll be back," Aiden states with the same unshakable certainty Laurent has.

"When?"

"I don't know."

Dick shakes his head. "He's gone. Maybe you should face that he abandoned his kit, his friends, his family and pack. Just took off without a care, breaking all his promises."

Aiden rolls his eyes and frowns in annoyance. "How many times do I need to tell you, Anna is _not_ abandoned! She has a whole pack doting on her."

"He promised he wouldn't let me die. How's he going to uphold that promise if he isn't here?"

All the anger goes out of Aiden. "Oh… that's the crux, isn't it? Sweetheart, if a Packrunner promises something the whole pack is obligated to uphold the promise."

"Most of you don't even know who I am. You think I'll come begging at your door for you to uphold promises you gave unprompted? No thanks. I've _never_ begged for anything."

"Then join us." Aiden looks at him with anticipation. His hazel-green eyes turning more green than hazel.

Dick smiles pleasantly, feeling rage boiling up inside of him. "What do you mean?" 

"Become a Williams," Aiden clarifies. 

It's exactly what Dick thought he meant, which is why he's furious. He bends his neck to look at Aiden shyly through his lashes. "Don't be ridiculous, dear. Your pack would never allow it." Dick's upper jaw is screaming with pain from holding back a full fang drop that would tip Aiden off that the smile on Dick's face isn’t as friendly as it seems.

Aiden puts an arm around Dick and gives him an affectionate temple rub. "Of course, they will. I'll see to it."

Dick hates him so much right now. At the same time that it’s nice to be held and touched by him―he smells so good and is so beautiful―he's confirming what Mal said - he’s who stopped the Williamses from adopting Mal and Laurent. "Are you offering me this because I revealed I have extensive language skills that could benefit a large company like yours?”

“What? No. We’re friends. I don’t care about the other stuff,” Aiden assures Dick and nuzzles his cheek, giving him goosebumps. 

It’s so hard to resist Aiden when he gets like this. Aiden isn’t very cuddly. He’ll give this kind of attention to the Os he knots or to Dick when they dance. But Aiden just said he could convince his pack to accept new members, and Mal was denied. It’s enough to keep Dick from being distracted. 

Dick shoves Aiden off him and stands up. “You’ve just proven what a bad friend you are. I’m leaving,” he says and heads for the door.

Aiden glares at him, anger colouring his scent. "Damnit, Richard! No matter what I do you twist it ‘til it becomes wrong! Why don’t you like me?! You owe me to at least―”

“ _Owe you???_ ” It’s a struggle not to flare from the indignant rage welling over. Dick spins around. “How much do I owe you? You selfish, privileged jerk! How much do I owe before you’ll accept that I’m a free man with no chains attached?” He pulls out the money he’s hidden in his cuffs and throws it at Aiden. “Will that do?!” He bends down to take the money out of his boots and throws that at Aiden too. “Or that?!”

“Dick, no. That’s not what I mea―” Aiden holds up his hands trying to stop Dick. He flinches when Dick throws another bundle of money at him. “Please, stop! I―”

“Or that?!” Another wad of cash goes flying. It’s more than Aiden gave him, but Dick’s furiously emptying himself of any money he’s carrying, throwing it all at Aiden. 

Aiden gets up from the bed and comes towards him, distressed and mournful. “Richard, _please_ , don’t―”

Dick roars with fangs fully dropped, stopping Aiden in his tracks. “Let’s make one thing clear, Aiden. Unless I give someone a promise, I don’t owe anyone anything. I’m not a thing you own. No matter what you do, you’ll never outrank me and no fame or riches will ever be enough to cancel my agency, you privileged turd.”

“I didn’t mean that,” Aiden says. Everything about him is drooping in defeat. Shoulders, head, scent. He smells so damn sad Dick’s nearly torn between anger and the need to console him.

“I’ve asked the Williams pack for one thing. _One thing_ , Aid,” Dick says and holds up a finger in front of Aiden’s face. “And you said no. You said it wasn’t possible. I accepted that. Now a few months later you tell me it’s a piece of cake all of a sudden?”

“You’ve asked to join us before?” Aiden asks in surprise. 

“ _No._ I asked you to take Mal and Laurent, dickhead. You can piss in a headwind, for all I care. I’m leaving.” Dick turns and stalks towards the door, head held high.

“Richard, _Dick, wait!_ Before you go, can I just…”

Dick stops just by the door and turns around. His own feelings are conflicted. No matter how angry he is, he hates seeing Aiden look so hurt and broken. 

“I got you something,” Aiden says. He goes to his jacket hanging by the door and takes something out of the inner chest pocket. “I’ve been thinking about how you missed your concert and I wanted to make it up to you. I meant to ask you if you wanted to go with me. But I guess that won’t be happening now. Maybe you can go with Mal…?” He holds out two concert tickets dejectedly.

Dick stares at the tickets. This is something that came straight from the heart, unasked for and unanticipated. This is sweet and caring and offered even in the face of rejection. "I'd love to go with you," he hears himself say, anger deflating.

Aiden looks up in confusion. "But… after what you just said…?"

"Does the offer come with strings attached?" Dick asks with an eyebrow raised.

"No. Of course not.”

“Then, if you still want to take me there, I’d love to go with you.”

“Are you sure? I’ll give you the tickets either way. I don’t want you to go with me just because I bought the tickets. You won’t have much fun if you’re accompanied by someone you hate. It would negate the purpose of the gift.”

“Hate? Aiden, dear, I love you. You’re presumptuous and often stomp on the feelings of people you profess to care about. You’re the friend I most frequently want to take an angry bite out of, but I still love you and I wouldn’t hesitate to put myself between you and danger if it ever comes to that. Don’t confuse anger and hurt for hatred.”

Aiden’s defeated posture shifts like a wilting flower in a sunshower, relaxing and unfolding with wide eyes and an uncertain smile. “I’d love to take you, Dick. I’ve been wanting to spend some time with you one-on-one to get to know you.”

Dick sighs, the last of his anger fizzling. Most of what infuriates him about Aiden is that he’s thoughtless. But that thoughtlessness is born out of the privileged life he was born into. He doesn’t fully grasp the hardship of those living at the bottom. Even his friends in the slums come from successful packs with relative wealth. As far as Dick knows, Dick’s the only friend Aiden has who truly comes from the very bottom of the food chain. It’s not Aiden’s fault he’s ignorant of things nobody’s told him. Dick steps up to Aiden and wraps his arms around him. “I’d like that too, dear. And perhaps we won’t butt heads as often if we get to know each other better. I’m angry because you sometimes show a lack of understanding of the life I live, and that dismissiveness from privileged people like you, has often brought me hardship in the past, and still does. The difference now is that I’ve got friends to catch me and stop me from falling all the way to the bottom when I bump into the proverbial glass roof and fall down.”

Aiden’s arms wrap around Dick to hug him close, his scent turning neutral. He nuzzles Dick's hair. "I never want to cause you trouble, sweetheart. I'm sorry if I come off like a turd."

"I'm sorry too, dear. To my knowledge, you've never purposely done anything to hurt me," Dick says, smelling the careful happiness seeping into Aiden's scent. "I suppose that if I honoured Knuckles by seeing things from his point of view, I should do the same for you." Being held by Aiden like this it's obvious how much Dick's grown since they met. Back then, his eyes were level with Aiden's chest. Now they're level with his mouth.

"Thank you."

Dick puts his nose against Aiden’s throat. “Can you explain why your housemates think I’m an Omega when they can’t smell me?” he asks. 

Aiden chuckles. “You act like a Main or a very high ranking Primal O.”

Dick frowns. “Then why the hell would Rumsfeldt purr for me?”

“Conservative or not, Arnie’s a sucker for bossy Os.”

Dick makes a grossed-out sound and Aiden chuckles again. Dick looks up into Aiden’s softly glowing eyes, marvelling at how he had gone so long before he first saw Aiden flare. Nobody Dick knows flares as often as Aiden. Though truthfully, Dick finds Aiden’s hazel-green eyes as beautiful as his blood-red flare. “Are you coming to the Sanctuary this weekend?” he asks, another olive branch in the wake of his earlier vitriol.

“I can stop by on Saturday if you’re going to be there?”

“I will.” Dick finds himself locked in Aiden’s gaze, smiling. Aiden’s smiling back and Dick nearly misses that it’s Aiden who starts smelling happier and happier and jittery since Aiden’s scent matches what Dick’s feeling. It’s unfair how easily he’s derailed when he’s cocooned in Aiden’s scent. “I should get going…”

“Okay…” Aiden says, but doesn’t make a move to let go of Dick.

Maybe it’s the stupid crush Dick’s harbouring that makes him get angry at Aiden so often? Dick’s not sure, but he’s rapidly forgetting why he was so furious. He could stand here all day being held by Aiden, swept up in his beautiful scent, staring up into his eyes. But he doesn’t have time, he reminds himself. On impulse, he licks his lips and stands on his toes to press his lips against Aiden’s, poking his tongue at the seam of Aiden’s lips. Aiden presses his lips together, scent exploding with anxiety and happiness at the same time.

Aiden turns his head away. “Honey, I don’t kiss like a Prog,” he tells Dick, cheeks beautifully flushed but with his trademark cocky smirk.

Dick sighs for dramatic effect. “I know. Marlon said so, and everybody agreed. Now, stop being difficult and open your nose.”

Aiden sucks in a surprised breath and bursts out laughing. It takes a moment for him to stop laughing, but when he does, he beams down at Dick with a sunny grin and a few stray giggles.

Dick doesn’t let Aiden come up with a retort. He stands on his toes again to give the kiss another go. This time, Aiden opens his mouth and reciprocates. 

It’s such a strange feeling, licking someone else’s tongue. And yet, Dick’s heart races, his belly’s swoops as if he’s falling, and nervous butterflies take flight inside of him.

He’s falling, spinning, tumbling helplessly, and flying high, high, higher. 

Who would have thought that kissing someone while sober, soft lips lightly pressed against his and a gentle tongue shyly exploring the tip of his own tongue could set off such dizzying emotions?

Aiden’s hand comes up to gently cup Dick’s cheek, hot and slightly damp, just before Aiden leans away. “Am I really not that special?” he asks with a cocky smirk. But, no. It falls short of his normal cockiness. There's an uncertainty in his eyes that's usually not there.

Dick huffs impatiently, pressing closer, tasting Aiden's breath, wanting more. "Very clever timing."

"What?" 

"To ask that when we're the only people in existence," Dick answers silently. 

Aiden hiccups a giggle and pulls Dick's face in for another kiss. This time Dick’s tongue can feel Aiden’s canines elongate. It makes something vibrate with hunger inside of Dick. He feels that ticklish feeling at the base of his spine and in his penis, that he’s learned is arousal. Shamelessly, he presses his pelvis against Aiden to relieve the tickling feeling. Instead, it gets more intense, and his dick begins to fill.

Aiden makes a sound in his throat, grabs Dick's ass and presses them more firmly together, gyrating his hips so their growing erections rub together. The scent of his arousal, excitement, and elation is swiftly killing Dick's ability to think straight or do much aside from whimper helplessly into Aiden's mouth and cling on. 

Aiden breaks the kiss only to grab Dick's hair to bend Dick’s head to the side so he can suck and lick at the gland behind Dick's ear. Dick whines, a plea for something unknown pressing at the back of his teeth, breath warbly and rough. 

"This could get me killed if you insist you're a Juvie," Aiden says, voice rough. His hot breath against Dick’s throat gives Dick goosebumps all over.

"Not at campus, I'm not," Dick answers needily. It's so stupid. Shouldn't it matter how Dick feels about it? Juvie or not, every cell in his body screams for more and still they’d punish Aiden if they knew.

“You’re an O here?” Aiden asks, dragging his teeth gently against Dick’s neck.

Dick shivers, barely withholding a whimper. Knuckles had said that he could go to college before he presented if he pretended to be an adult. Dick would have chosen to fake being an Alpha, but since the Alphas downstairs had jumped to strange conclusions, he might as well roll with it. “Yes.”

“Duly noted,” Aiden says, mouth against Dick’s throat.

Dick lick’s at Aiden’s neck, secretion melting on his tongue. It’s better than any drug and it makes Aiden’s scent come as much from the inside as from outside.

Aiden rests his forehead on Dick’s shoulder, closes his eyes and does the grunting noise. He opens one eye partially, side-eyeing Dick. “It’s okay. You can go ahead,” he urges.

Dick lowers his eyelids and smirks. He _wants_ to oblige, but he has no idea what he’s supposed to do. He tries to emulate the noise. He manages to make a grunt, but it doesn’t sound quite right.

Aiden lets out a pained chuckle. “Fine. I get it. You don’t want to. I should just stop asking, shouldn’t I?” he says with a small smile and disappointment in his eyes, reading Dick’s failed attempt at emulating him as mockery.

Dick smirks coyly to hide the shame his ignorance makes him feel. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, dear,” he says.

Unfortunately, Aiden doesn’t know him like Knuckles did or he would have known he needed to explain to Dick what he meant. Aiden instead huffs in amusement. “Yeah, yeah,” he says skeptically and pulls Dick in for another brain-frying kiss.

He buries his fingers in Dick’s hair and grabs Dick’s ass to get more friction on their erections, backing them up against the door. Dick closes his eyes and lets himself get swept up in the kissing, slow at first, but getting more and more intense and hungry. There’s a jolt of pleasure zinging up his spine with every roll of Aiden’s hips. Dick’s breath is quickly getting laboured. He tries to touch Aiden everywhere he can reach - shoulders, back, ass, neck, midriff. He moves to suck and lick at Aiden’s throat, then back to seek his mouth. Aiden’s breath is hot and he’s making a low sound, a mix between a purr and a growl, urging Dick on. There’s a growing sense of urgency in both of them.

Suddenly Aiden spins him around to face the door. Dick’s dizzy and confused, wondering what the hell is going on, but before he can ask, Aiden pulls down his collar and starts sucking on the gland at the base of his spine.

Dick’s _not_ expecting the intense pleasure that comes with that.

When Knuckles went over that gland with his fingers during the time he massaged Dick, Dick had to bite the pillow to keep quiet since he didn’t want to make Knuckles uncomfortable. But getting accidentally touched there with fingers is one thing, getting the gland sucked on and milked with teeth is something else entirely and Dick wouldn’t be able to stop the keen coming out of his throat if he wanted to. He bucks and jerks, feeling that sensation in his nethers he’s learned is a quick buildup for an orgasm. He hasn’t had many of those. They require him to fondle himself and he's not really comfortable doing that.

" _Jinkies_ , you're sensitive," Aiden mumbles, locking Dick in place with an arm around his midriff, hand fanning out over his chest. Aiden ruts against Dick's ass and it feels great.

Dick wants more.

Everything about this is new and thrilling. He feels like he’s starving for whatever it is Aiden’s doing and offering. Every cell in his body is tingling in anticipation and pleasure.

Then Aiden's other hand comes around to fumble with Dick's belt. Dick finally catches on to what's about to happen.

Is he ready for that? Does he want that? He said he could pretend to be an O as long as he's on campus, but is he ready to go all the way and let Aiden knot him? That’s where they’re heading, isn’t it?

Short answer: Yes.

There’s exactly nothing else he wants more right now than Aiden as close as humanly possible.

But the more complicated answer is; maybe not?

Dick’s been crushing on Aiden since the first whiff and that’s a feeling that’s grown with every meeting, despite their frequent arguments. Come to think of it, the more in love Dick’s become, the more often they fight. Maybe Mal really put her finger on the issue when she said that what the Os lining up to be knotted by Aiden really want, is to be special, singled out and chosen like the Williams’ Patriarch and his mate. Maybe it's Dick's Conservative imprinting that's acting up, but he wants to be more than a one-hit-wonder. If he's going to let Aiden be his first, he wants what he had with Knuckles. He wants them to make love over and over, unable to keep away from each other. But what's on the table here, even if they end up as regular lovers (highly unlikely with Aiden's track record), is to become a dirty secret. Amongst their friends, they'd have to hide and lie. Dick would have to sit and watch Aiden ignore him in favour of whatever O caught Aiden's eye for the night.

Dick spins around before Aiden manages to get his belt open. Aiden makes a surprised noise that’s muffled by Dick’s mouth on his. Not that it changes either Aiden’s intent or intensity. He kisses like he’s starving for it, squeezing Dick’s ass. One of his hands goes back to try to undo Dick’s belt again. Dick thinks that if it doesn’t stop now he won’t be able to stop.

Dick reaches for the door handle and turns it.

The two of them stumble out of the room, nearly falling as the support Dick had at his back gives way. Aiden manages to catch them and stop them from ending up in a painful heap on the floor.

There are several Alphas loitering ‘inconspicuously’ in the corridor as if they normally stand around reading school books or being incredibly interested in the paintings on the wall, and not at all because they’re interested in what’s going on between Aiden and the guy who just publicly cut Aiden down for size. Aiden looks around, bewildered, but Dick pulls him in for another kiss before pushing him away without letting go of his shirt. 

“No,” Dick says decisively.

“No?”

“No,” Dick repeats. “You didn’t have time to come get what you needed yourself, which means you don’t have time for this either. Now you go study hard and don’t even think about popping your knot in anyone until you’re done with your schoolwork. Is that clear?”

Aiden lets out a breathless, incredulous laugh. “Crystal.”

“Good. I’ll be on my way then.” Dick uses Aiden’s collar to pull him in for one last kiss, this one slow and lingering. Despite whatever aversion Aiden claims to have against kissing like a Prog, he melts into the kiss without any hesitation.

Tearing himself away is hard, but Dick manages. Aiden smiles brightly, rumpled and red-cheeked, offering a little wave before Dick turns the corner to take the stairs down. Dick’s jubilantly happy all the way home, belly flip-flopping with excited nerves and the sensation of Aiden’s touch and taste lingering along with his scent.

* * *

A few days later when Dick comes home from work, the sun has already set. He’s dead on his feet and plans to crawl into bed and sleep right away. He enters through the courtyard to visit the outhouse, then walks out to go around since he can’t get in through his actual door without any of his strong friends to open it. He shimmies up the drainpipe and sucks in a breath of surprise. Aiden’s sitting outside his window reading something in the light of his flare, smelling of high anxiety.

Aiden looks up when he hears Dick and instantly frowns, scent getting angry. “Where have you been?! Have you any idea how dangerous it can be in this area after dark?! You―” He cuts himself off, bends his neck and licks his lips, holding up his hands in defeat before Dick can do anything more than raise his eyebrows. “Sorry,” Aiden says. “I’m sorry. The Hales told me when you usually come home, so I got worried when you didn’t show up. My mind started showing me the worst-case scenarios and I…” He shakes himself. "Guess I don't function properly without my little brother around to make a mess so I project my worry onto you instead?" he adds with an apologetic, lopsided smile.

"And here I was gearing up for another fight," Dick smirks. "I'll let it slide this time, but unless you move in with me, you don't have a say in what time I get home, dear. How are you? You look tired." He crawls to Aiden to greet him with affectionate temple and neck rubs, marking him up.

Aiden closes his eyes and responds in kind. "I'm fine. Just a little wrung out. Cramming for the tests, doing the Run, working out, _taking_ tests, organising stuff for the Alpha House and keeping up to date with what's going on at home. A lot of juggling, all while trying to look good and unbothered. It’s tiring.”

“And how are the tests going?”

Aiden huffs and cups Dick’s cheek with one hand. “Don’t know yet, but I’ll be surprised if I don’t pass with flying colours,” he says, appearing more tired than proud or smug.

“That’s my good boy,” Dick purrs and folds himself against Aiden’s chest, tucking his head in under Aiden’s chin while taking the book out of Aiden’s lap to look at it. It’s too dark to read without flaring, but he can make out the title on the front - a school book on management.

Aiden takes the book from him and puts it away beside himself. “Have you told the Hales that you’re an O?”

Dick frowns in confusion and tips his head back so he can look at Aiden. “No? Why should I?”

Aiden chuckles humorlessly. “Indeed. Why should you?” he says and shakes his head with a sarcastic look on his face and a slight sting of annoyance in his scent. “Why did you lie to Laurent about the money?”

“I didn’t. Not quite. You _did_ pay. That we had an argument is none of his business.”

“So you went home and took money out of your savings to give him and claim it was from me,” Aiden states. 

That’s what happened. After Dick left Aiden at the campus he realised he’d thrown all the money he was carrying at Aiden in their fight, including the money Aiden had paid for the drugs. Dick had ground his teeth at ‘more than the market value’, went home to fetch the money and gone to Laurent to pay him, saying it was from Aiden. Which it was. “I threw away money that wasn’t mine, Aid.”

Aiden takes a deep breath. “I, uh… Most out-pack people around me either want to fuck me or get at my money, or both. I don’t mind the fucking part, but the money thing rubs me the wrong way. So I guess I don’t use enough of my money on people like you and Laurent who don’t give a shit. Laurent’s never asked for payment and I never really considered how much money he’s losing by giving it to us for free. And I guess… I guess I’m expecting them to take care of you so you can take a few hours off to run an errand without having to worry. I’m sorry. If there are any people I _don’t_ want to inconvenience, it’s you two. I―”

Dick presses a finger to Aiden’s mouth to get him to shut up, grinning. “If you know that I paid your drugs in your name, it means you’ve met Laurent today and spent at least 30 minutes arguing with him since he doubtlessly would have tried to give you your money back,” he says and removes his finger.

Aiden smiles. “I did, yes. He’s quite stubborn, but I made a deal with him.” He takes something out of his pocket and holds up a roll of cash. “Are you going to be equally stubborn, or will you accept your money back?”

“It depends. Are you going to feel like I owe you somehow, if I accept them?”

Aiden shakes his head with a small smile and a hint of sadness in his eyes. “No. I’m sorry that I made you feel that way.”

Dick gently plucks the money out of Aiden’s hand. “I suppose I need to apologize too. You took a harsher scolding than you deserved,” Dick admits. “I was annoyed at having to lose income, yes, but a run-in with a Snatcher that once tried to grab me, and a ten-minute long, humiliating argument with the campus guard refusing to let me in, had me coiled for a strike. And I’m afraid that while you got to piggyback on Marlon’s good actions, I also, on an emotional plane not ruled by logic, hold you responsible for him leaving. I apologize for that.”

Aiden nuzzles Dick’s forehead and places a soft kiss just below the hairline. “It’s okay. I brought you the books I gave you. If you want them?”

“Yes, please. Would you do me the favour of marking up my apartment? Perhaps stay the night? I’m afraid I’m too tired to be much of a host, but I don’t like sleeping alone.”

“Of course,” Aiden says with a little smile.

Dick wasn’t joking about being tired, luckily Aiden’s equally wrung out. It doesn’t stop him from marking up Dick’s apartment meticulously. Dick’s very self-conscious about getting naked in front of Aiden but when Aiden crawls into Dick’s nest still in his undershirt and underwear, Dick opts to do the same. Dick almost falls asleep at once, except Aiden drags him back from sleep by talking. “Dick?”

“....Mhm?”

“I saw Jaeger accompany you to the gates. What were you talking about?”

“I told him what skills I have and he expanded on his offer for me and my pack to join his pack in California,” Dick answers drowsily.

“Are you going to?” 

“That’s hardly my decision, now is it? Mal and Laurent need to have a say in a cross-country move.”

Aiden’s quiet for a moment, then he begs, “Please, don’t do it.”

“Why not? Is Jaeger full of crap?”

Aiden hugs Dick closer and smells anxious. “No. The Talons are like us Williamses. They’re powerful, and I’ve never met a Talon who wasn’t happy in their pack. I think you’d be happy there too.”

“So why don’t you want me to join them?”

“Aside from how it would mean you and Laurent would move to the other side of the country and leave me even more lonesome?” Aiden asks, instantly making Dick feel bad for even considering it. Marlon had abandoned Aiden too, he reminds himself. “The Talons and Williamses frequently clash and end up on opposing sides in business ventures. We’re allies, to a degree, but more often than not, that alliance balanced on a razor’s edge. I don’t ever want to face off with you in a negotiation that demands me steamroll you for the sake of my pack.”

“Very well, dear, then I’ll decline the offer,” Dick promises drowsily. “Good night.”

“Thank you…”

If Aiden says anything else, it’s lost on Dick as sleep finally pulls him under.

Aiden’s gone when Dick wakes up, but when Saturday rolls around he shows up at the Sanctuary as promised. He devotes most of his attention to the jubilantly happy Laurent, ignoring any Os trying to catch his eyes. He keeps throwing surreptitious glances at Dick, though, and every time Dick catches Aiden looking, something flutters inside of him. Aiden leaves fairly early, taking Laurent with him, and Dick’s torn between jealousy and happiness that Aiden took what Dick said to heart.

* * *


	16. The Bath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick gets to experience some non-sexual, soft romance as Aiden starts courting him. Of course, he isn't _aware_ he's being properly courted, but he finally gets to know the red-eyed Alpha and spend some quality one-on-one time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here. Have some fluff.

* * *

They're walking hand in hand from the concert hall. Rather, Aiden's walking, Dick's floating. The dinner before the concert had been delicious. Aiden had taken him to a French restaurant with real silverware and waiters in uniforms more expensive than any garments Dick owns. Aiden looked so proud and impressed when Dick easily ordered and made conversation with the waiter in French. Aiden’s own French is choppy and his accent very American. Dick tried not to preen under Aiden’s admiration when Dick told him what languages he could speak, which he spoke fluently, and which he could read and write. The concert had him spellbound and the seating was fantastic. When they left the concert Aiden took his hand, which is good or Dick might just have floated off into space. Dick doesn't want the evening to be over just yet, but he doesn't want to go to the Sanctuary either. "So… Do you need to get back to campus? Or do you feel like, I don't know, not going home just yet?" he asks hopefully, wanting more time just the two of them.

Aiden chuckles. “Campus can wait,” he says and looks around. He bites his lip and pulls Dick to a stop. "I've got an idea. It may be a little unorthodox, but, how do you feel about taking a bath?" Dick's suddenly rigid posture must have said it all because Aiden hides a snigger behind a hand.

"Ah. I'm afraid bathing isn't something I enjoy, dear. My bonds fade easily enough as it is," Dick answers carefully.

Aiden lets go of Dick's hand to slide an arm around Dick's waist and gently turn him so they're facing across the street. "Let me pitch you a sale. See Hartmann's Hotel over there?" He gestures across the street. "They’ve recently installed the latest technology in plumbing. We don’t even have it installed at the estate yet. Hot and cold water straight from the taps. No waiting for it to heat up, no skin burns from the tub under you getting too hot, no risk of being poisoned by gas, and no accidental explosions from the toilets. It's the future. We can check into the penthouse suite, order Champagne and exotic fruit and sweet treats. Then take a nice, hot soak in the large tub. I can give you a nice, sensual wash, and when we've tired of bathing we'll get dry and I'll mark you up properly. You said you and Knuckles used to massage each other with secretion, right? I'll do that. I'll give you a massage with my secretion so every inch of you smells like me afterwards. From the tip of your head to the soles of your feet. What do you say?”

“I’d say touching the soles of my feet is ill-advised, dear. I accidentally kicked Knuckles straight into the wall when he did that.”

“Ticklish, huh? I’ll keep that in mind. So what do you say, should we…?” He gestures with his head at the hotel across the street.

Dick’s conflicted. It sounds like an amazing experience. At the same time it sounds horrible. “I can’t swim. I won’t panic or flail until I drown myself if I fall into water, but the most I can do is dog paddle.”

Aiden chuckles and shakes his head, then he shifts to stand in front of Dick with his arms loosely around Dick's waist. "I'd love to teach you to swim some time. But you don't have to know how to swim to bathe in a tub." When Dick still hesitates, Aiden adds, "Please, Dick? If you really don't want to, we'll do something else. But I think you'll enjoy it if you give it a chance, and I'd love for us to spoil ourselves with a night at Hartmann's. It might not be as luxurious as the Ritz-Carlton, but it’s much cosier."

How can Dick say no to that? He can’t, that’s how. “Alright, dear. But I’m expecting a very hefty supply of Champagne.”

Aiden beams at him. “As much as you want. I promise.”

* * *

Why would anyone drink any other type of alcohol when they can have Champagne? Dick loves how fast the bubbles make him tipsy. The suite is huge with a separate bedroom. At first, they drink and eat fruit and sweets Dick's never tried. They sit on the couch, Dick leaned against Aiden, chirping and tweeting with delight when Aiden finger feeds him. It's the reverse of the time Dick fed bananas to Knuckles, and yet it's Aiden purring the loudest.

Dick thinks this was a splendid idea until Aiden suggests they take a bath and goes to fill the tub.

Aiden divests himself of his clothes, throwing the garments on an armchair and moving about naked as if it was nothing.

Dick hates that nudity still isn't natural for him. The old anxiety returns every time he gets naked for the first time with someone new. He can't help but stare. Aiden's _perfect_. He's so proportional, muscular too, but agile, without the bulk and brawn of Knuckles. Dick's usually anxious about being naked with people because he feels exposed and vulnerable and like he's doing something wrong. But this time it's different.

Dick trails after him, giggling in embarrassment. "Oh dear. I fear taking my clothes off and putting myself in comparison to you."

Aiden's crouching by the large tub, feeling if the temperature is right. He twists around with a bemused smile. "What do you mean?"

Dick feels his cheeks heat up. "Your body is… exquisite, to put it mildly. Your body is… like those drawings of the ideal body. Mine is… well. It's not."

Dick thinks he must imagine it but he swears Aiden's cheeks turn pinker. Aiden chuckles and turns around to sit on the edge of the tub. "First off, I've seen you naked and you're beautiful. Lean, and legs for days. Your body reminds me of my aunt Luci who, to me, had the ideal body. Some thought she wasn't feminine enough since her body wasn't curvy and her chest was flat. But I think she was striking with her long legs and lean muscles. You've got the same thing going for you. Secondly…" He gestures for Dick to come closer.

When Dick comes within arm's length from Aiden, Aiden reaches out to pull him close so he's standing between Aiden's knees. Dick giggles. He blames the Champagne with its bubbly buzz for making him so giggly. 

Aiden grins up at him and starts unbuttoning Dick's shirt. "I'm a prize stallion, Dicky. The muscles on your body are perfectly adapted to the life you live. Mine? Not so much. I work out. Aside from practising the skills I'm supposed to learn and use, I also do exercises that are counter-productive, solely to shape my body into something appealing to all designations. If you ever see Mar and me naked side by side, you'll understand what I _should_ look like if I didn't try to look like the myth of the red-eyed Alpha."

"Why?"

Aiden shrugs and looks at his fingers as he unbuttons Dick’s shirt, revealing the naked skin underneath. "Because it's expected of me." He helps Dick remove the shirt and turns his attention to the pants.

“Your pack expects you to look perfect?”

Aiden huffs. “No, no. Not like that. Everyone expects that from me. The pressure to look good doesn’t come from my pack. Not really. But my family sets the bar really high for themselves. Dad was… well, perfect. He might not have had red eyes to boast of, but he had everything else. The physique, intellect, charm, grit. Mom wasn’t far behind him. Both of them were great soldiers and musically gifted. Sean, our Second, has medals from both the American military and from the Union from his time undercover. Grandpa Jed’s an incredible fighter and a business genius. Grandma Karen is a General. Then we have Aunt Luci who was the unbeatable master of the Omega Run at college. And Uncle Michael―”

“What’s the Omega Run?” Dick interrupts curiously.

Aiden explains while he removes Dick’s pants.

“And you’re the current champion?” Dick asks and removes his own socks. The Omega Run intrigues him. He feels an explicable urge to beat Aiden at it.

“Of course. But you see why I’m feeling the pressure? My bloodline is famed for our excellency. All of us are over-achievers. It doesn’t come naturally. We work ourselves to the bone to reach the goals we’ve set and we always try to be better than those before us. The problem is that I don’t really have goals, so I try to live up to the hopes other people have for me instead.” Aiden strokes Dick’s thighs and stands up. He steps aside to give Dick access to the bathtub.

As soon as Dick lays eyes on the water he's struck by a thought and starts to panic. "Oh dear. I can't do this. I can't."

"Of course, you can," Aiden comforts, squeezing his shoulder supportively.

Dick turns towards him, frantically trying to explain."No no. You don't understand. I'm dirty. I give myself a rudimentary wash to look clean. But I'm not. Bonds fade so quickly and dirt doesn't smell on me, so I let it be to keep my bonds. If I get into the water with you it'll turn black and you'll be disgusted."

Aiden smiles warmly and caresses Dick’s upper arms comfortingly. "Hush, sweetheart. I won't be disgusted.” Dick makes a suffering noise. Aiden bites his lip for a beat. “If you’re that bothered, how about, you get into the bath and I'll sit beside the tub and give you a thorough wash. Then we'll rinse the tub and refill it and I'll get in with you."

Dick’s frozen in indecision.

Aiden looks at him pleadingly for a moment before his face falls and he holds up his hands in defeat. "Alright. This is one of my favourite things in life and I would love to share it with you. But if you really don't want to, I'm not going to try to force you. Could you at least keep me company? Go get the second bottle of Champagne and sit with me in here?”

Aiden’s still smiling but Dick can still see the disappointment he’s trying to hide. He hates that he’s the cause of that disappointment. Knuckles said to face your fears. This is a ridiculous fear. "Would it really gladden you to give me a wash?” he asks uncertainly and side-eyes the rushing water in the tub.

“It really would.”

“Even though I’m disgustingly dirty?”

Aiden grins. “ _Especially_ if you turn out to be disgustingly dirty. Then it’s going to be more fun washing you. Trust me, Dicky, it’s going to feel great for both of us.”

Dick takes a deep breath to gather courage. “Is the second bottle of Champagne allowed to be part of the equation?”

Now Aiden throws his head back in carefree laughter. He smells happy. He cups Dick’s cheek with a warm smile. “If you get into the water I’ll go fetch it, okay?” he says and kisses Dick on the forehead. Suddenly Dick’s heart’s racing because of soft warm lips instead of panic.

“Why are you still standing here? Go fetch!” Dick says with a shooing motion and a brave smile.

Aiden sniggers, squeezes Dick’s shoulder, and leaves the room. He leaves the door open and Dick can hear him hum one of the songs sung at the concert earlier tonight.

Dick’s never, in living memory, been completely clean. He normally washes with a wet rag, taking extra care with his private parts, armpits, face and hands. He brushes his teeth. The only thing he’ll submerge fully in water to wash is his hair. He doesn’t wash that too often. He’s washed more frequently since he acquired friends who will mark him up, but he’s nowhere near as clean as any of them, and none of them washes daily as thoroughly as a Conservative of deep faith. He has a moment of panicked thought, worried that bonds would no longer stick to him, but then he mentally kicks himself. He doesn’t want to still be standing here, frozen in fear of a tub of water that’s not even half-full yet, when Aiden comes back.

Knuckles said to face your fears, Dick reminds himself and determinedly lifts his foot over the edge of the tub, bracing for the shock to the system bathing has always been.

And it is. Except, not the shock Dick had been bracing for. Aiden had said the water would be warm and yet Dick had braced for cold. He yanks his foot back up. Then he shakes himself and slowly puts his foot down in the water again. It’s bordering on too hot. He sits down on the edge of the tub and swings his second foot over to submerge that too. His body adjusts quickly enough. He slowly starts lowering himself down, changes his mind and sits back on the edge.

“If it’s too hot you can turn the blue handle over there to increase the flow of cold water.” Dick jerks when Aiden speaks. He turns his head to find Aiden standing in the doorway with their glasses and a bottle of champagne. "Sorry," Aiden says sheepishly. "I like my baths really hot. I tried to make it colder than I usually do, but apparently not cold enough."

"Oh. No, dear. That's not the problem. I'm sitting here reliving some of my most traumatic kithood memories."

"Because bathing daily likely led to the death of your family?"

Dick chuckles. "Good riddance, no. Because washing was a morning activity and marking me up was done at bedtime. I'm trying to convince myself that the fear I'm feeling is irrational."

Aiden stops smiling. "It's that bad, huh…" He comes in and puts the glasses and bottle down on the broad tile ledge built around three sides of the tub, then sits down beside Dick, facing the other direction. "This is a big deal to you?"

Dick chuckles pleasantly and bends his neck to look at Aiden through his lashes like a submissive, Conservative Omega. "Monumental."

"You feel afraid and vulnerable right now? You need to tell me since I can't smell it."

"I do. As well as I feel humiliated and embarrassed. I don't want you to see me being this irrational."

"Don't worry about that. I promise I'm not going to laugh at you. And I give you my word I'll mark you up properly as soon as we're done here."

"Very well. Here goes nothing." Dick starts to lower himself into the water again. It's… it's not that bad. It feels good, sitting in warm water, after the initial shock of the heat has passed.

"There you go. See that basket over there? It contains everything one might need for a nice soak. Sponges, scrubs, soap, washcloths, shampoos, anything. We can get any number of those baskets from the hotel," Aiden says and carefully uncorks the champagne bottle to prevent the cork from flying off. He fills their glasses and hands one to Dick. "In our pack, washing is generally done just before bedtime. We take a shower to remove the grime of a hard day's work, then crawl into bed together. When you're sleeping in a pile marking happens by itself and when we get into bed clean the strongest scents are sweat and secretion. I think most of us prefer to wash off in the evening because we like the scent of each other to linger when we go about our day in the morning.”

Dick slowly turns around in the tub and slides down to lay down, takes a sip of his champagne, then dips his head, holding his glass above the surface, before sitting back up, stroking hair and water from his face. “This. This is a whole lot more pleasant than I imagined."

Aiden smiles. "I've loved a good, hot soak since I was a kit. As a little kit that was never a problem. You can bathe anywhere if you're small enough. To keep an eye on me, Jane used to boil a pot of water, put a stopper in one of the kitchen sinks, then fill it up with the boiled water mixed with cold water to get a good temperature. Then she'd simply put me in there. I'd stay put, playing with toys, or utensils or whatever, barely splashing. She'd work in the kitchen and refill a little bit of warm water whenever I started complaining. She was smart too. She knew when I'd get hungry so she'd time it so mealtime was one or two hours after she put me in the water. That way I wouldn't throw a fit about ending the bath."

Aiden takes a sip then puts down the glass and shuts off the water. He takes the basket and starts looking through it. "Just lay there and relax for a bit so the dirt will come off easily," he instructs.

"I imagine you were quite disappointed when you couldn't fit in the sink anymore," Dick says, getting less tense by the second. He's never had a hot bath and he's starting to feel like he's been missing out.

Aiden chuckles. "Understatement. We've always tried to stay up to date on plumbing and appliances. Things barely hit the market before we buy and install them. The Union invasion put a stop to that, but since Mar took over the household budget we've gotten everything updated. He might not be doing the budget right now, but since the latest technology boosted morale so much they kept up the tradition. That's why we're getting this installed next month. We're going to have limitless hot water in all our taps and showers." Aiden purrs the last sentence.

"You don't have hot water on tap? I thought it was pretty standard for rich people to have."

"It's not, but we do. In a few taps and two showers. But that water comes from a heated tank and if you use too much water too quickly, the water in the tank doesn't have time to heat up. Since we're a lot of people sharing, we have to be careful to preserve it so the next person that needs it can access it too. Like taking a hot shower. You get wet, shut the shower off to soap and scrub yourself, then quickly rinse. That way most will be guaranteed a hot shower."

"Hmm. So you can't take hot baths at home?"

"Yes, I can. Over time we've had a lot of different types of baths. Back in the days, we had these heaters under the tubs. So you filled the tub with cold water and lit the heater underneath. It ran on gas and was dangerous on so many levels. Did you hear the fairytale about the kit-eating witch that cooked the kits alive in a huge iron pot over the fire? Like that. First, there was the risk of the metal getting too hot so you risked burns or the skin sluicing right off if you stayed in for too long. Then you also risked getting gassed to death if you forgot to shut the gas off. One would think we’d be safe with our sense of smell, and the danger would be obvious for anyone stepping into the room. But if you’re already in the room you just start hallucinating until you pass out, not really understanding what’s happening. We changed that system as soon as the tank system was available. Even then, we had a questionable way of heating the tank that added the risk of explosions. We never had that kind of accident though. And two or three years ago we installed another, safer heating system.”

Aiden dips a soft sponge in the water, then pours something that smells like soap onto it. Dick’s never seen soap that doesn’t come in a bar but when Aiden squeezes the sponge a couple of times it starts foaming. “Sit up straight,” Aiden instructs. Dick does as told. Aiden dips the sponge and starts rubbing it over Dick’s shoulders and back. He talks while he works. “We have one tub in a bathroom behind the kitchen. It has the oldest solution, but in many ways, it’s the greatest. The tub itself has the usual drainage, but you use an old well pump to fill it with cold water. But the best part is, raise your arm, there’s a pipe going through the wall from the kitchen, and now the other arm,” Aiden instructs Dick while he talks, washing armpits, chest and neck.

Dick closes his eyes and purrs. It’s almost like getting a massage, or being petted, or cuddling with a soft cat. He puts his glass down on the ledge and shifts to put his legs under him so he comes up higher for Aiden to reach.

“In the kitchen, we have this extra sink just beside the stoves. Normally, it’s covered with a form-fitted lid that adds workspace, but if you remove the lid, you can pour hot water into the sink and it will come out through the pipe straight into the tub in the bathroom. That way, if you fill the bath with hot and cold water to get the perfect temperature, and then time your bath to when Jane starts making dinner, she’ll be a sweetheart and keep a small kettle with water on the stove to pour in the sink to help you keep the perfect temperature while she works.”

“In other words, she’s still putting you in water to keep an eye on you,” Dick jokes.

Aiden chuckles. “I guess you could say that. Lay down and stick your leg up for me.”

Dick obeys. “Is Jane your cook?"

Aiden chokes on spittle and laughs, hand stilling on Dick's leg for a beat. " _Athena_ , no! She's our Main. But she likes cooking and is very good at it. If the whole pack is eating, she’ll run the kitchen and several people will help prepare the meal. All of us learn rudimentary cooking skills. Now the other leg. We have domestics, but they're not servants and all of us have to do chores. As kits and Juvies we get to help with everything to learn. When we get older it starts being divided by what we enjoy and are good at. To a degree. Everyone gets good at folding linens if they do it often enough. But it's better to have someone with green fingers who loves gardening tending the garden, than it is to put everyone on a rotating schedule. And of course, those who are away working at the office until late evenings can't be expected to come home and do laundry. Same goes for school. Studies have priority over household chores. Do you want to wash your private parts yourself, or can I do it?"

Dick turns around and stands on his knees, legs apart as much as the tub allows for then leans forward. He crosses his arms over the tile ledge and rests his chin on it.

“ _Jinkies,_ ” Aiden mutters under his breath.

Dick lays his cheek on his arms so he can look at Aiden. “Is this not good?” he asks, feeling his insecurities return.

Aid chuckles awkwardly, looking flustered but smelling happy and excited. “This is perfect, pet, I just wasn’t expecting you to instantly present me with your ass. Sorry. I’m reminding myself that this is a big deal for you so I won’t get carried away.” His smirk this time is far more boyish than the one he normally flashes.

‘Pet’. Dick likes it. It makes him think of Knuckles trying to convince his twin brother that they should adopt and care for Dick. He knows from listening to Aid and Mar at the Sanctuary, that their pets are greatly loved and well cared for. In fact, the Williams pack considers pets full members whether they are working animals or just kept for company. “Get carried away?”

Aiden scratches his neck then reaches out to pour more soap on the sponge, not looking at Dick. “It’s a nice view, that’s all.”

Dick frowns in bemusement. “You see people naked all the time,” he points out. His thoughts go to what almost happened in Aiden’s room at the Alpha House, but that was triggered by kissing. He can’t imagine the mere sight of him would rile up Aiden that way.

Aiden grins and looks back at Dick, this time tilting his head, lowering his eyelids and flaring, making the grin one of slick charm. “I do. And you’re a very nice view in comparison to most.”

Dick turns his face away to hide his smile and blush, mumbling, “Liar…” under his breath.

Aiden starts washing Dick’s buttcheeks, then his crack, then slides the sponge forward to wash balls and penis. Dick’s caught between mortification and pleasure, purring nonetheless because it feels great and is over far too soon.

“There. All done. Now, lay down in the water to rinse yourself off and we'll do it again after a water change. This time with another, coarser sponge to scrub all the dead skin off."

Dick does as he's told. The soapy water isn't black as he feared, but it is slightly greyish. Aiden pulls the plug out to drain the water then refills the tub with clean water. He doesn't wash everywhere this time. He stays clear of sensitive areas with the coarser sponge, but scrubs more thoroughly. It really feels good, and their content purrs sync. When Aiden washes Dick's hair, massaging his scalp, it feels so good Dick chirps and tweets happily, making Aiden laugh.

When Aiden's done and Dick's rinsed off again, Aiden refills the tub and gets in with Dick. Dick leans his back against Aiden's chest and they lie sipping champagne, just enjoying themselves. "This is unfortunate," Dick states drowsily.

"What is?"

"I’ve already decided that I want my pack to live in an apartment on the Upper Eastside. Now I need an apartment with a bathroom like this, and I suspect that makes the price tag skyrocket."

Aiden chuckles. "We'll solve that problem, don't you worry. Feels nice, doesn't it?"

"Oh yes. I'm certain that if my parents could see me now, they'd think you'd used witchcraft on me to get me in the tub, but I'm loving it. Tell me… Knuckles said that if my parents had taken me to any successful pack, even yours, and asked you to adopt me because they couldn't care for me, you would have said yes. Is that true?"

"Yes. Definitely."

Dick hums thoughtfully. "He also said Conservatives would rather see their kits die before they'd let them grow up as Packrunners."

"Doubtful. Mar would probably agree, but I don't think so. I think they simply aren't aware that's an option. Our cultures are so different. A single pair can't care for however many kits. But if you have 10 adults or more working in unison, you can. Adopting is ingrained in our culture and lifestyle."

Dick hums again and closes his eyes. 

After a moment of silence, Aiden says, "Tell me a secret. Something you don't think anyone else knows about you."

Dick thinks for a moment. "Do you promise not to tell anyone else without my permission?"

"I promise."

"I killed Knuckles."

Aid sucks in a surprised breath. “Okay. Not what I was fishing for, but go on.”

“I was convinced I could talk him down to save him, so I hid where he was supposed to be positioned. It was a narrow alley. He came up out of the sewers cold and hard and ready to kill, fangs fully dropped and pupils slit like a snake. He had a crossbow. He started shooting people in the melee beyond the alley. One went down and nobody even noticed they were being shot at in the chaos. I saw him take aim at one of Marshall’s close kin. Knuckles had made me promise not to let him hurt his friends, and that would surely hurt. So I stood up and told him ‘no’.”

Aiden smells of anxiety and moves his arm from the edge of the tub to wrap around Dick’s chest while taking a sip of his champagne. He doesn’t say anything.

Dick chuckles humorlessly. “It’s funny. I’d scared him so many times. Popped up beside him unannounced. Sometimes he’d even squeal in fright. Often he’d pull his fist back to hit and then he’d see it was me and yell at me. ‘Damnit, Dick! Don’t do that, I could have hurt you.’ He never did and I always trusted him not to. How’s that for relationship development?”

“I’d say that was a lot of progress, considering your starting point,” Aiden remarks gravely.

Dick takes a sip of champagne and turns his head to give Aiden a slow, affectionate temple rub on the cheek. “Yeah… and I still trusted him, even in the middle of a pack war. Until he spun around and aimed that crossbow at me point blank without a trace of recognition on his face. Did I tell you he had heat vision? He did. A throwback from the Siberian. When they use it, their eye whites turn black. It looks terrifying. But a Siberian has some kind of function that shields them from their own body heat. Knuckles didn’t have that. He’d told me that when he used it, everything turned red so he couldn’t see anything. In my fear and panic, I didn’t remember that. All I felt when his eye-whites turned black just before he started to pull the trigger, was terror. I dove under the line of fire. If he hadn’t blinded himself, he could easily have followed my movement…” Dick’s quiet for a moment. “I’ll admit, I don’t actually remember stabbing him. The next memory I have is of him dying in my arms with his blood on my knife. I keep thinking, if I’d realised what he was doing, maybe I _could_ have saved him."

"No. I don't think you could. Knuckles was very brave, forgiving, and protective of all of us. But a pack bond is a powerful thing, and it works on an instinctual level. If you could have locked him up and spent a week with him like you’d done before, I'm sure you could have won him back. But in a split second on a battlefield? It's admirable that he even managed to blind himself long enough for you to take him out."

"Do you really think so?"

"Yes. I'm not a biology major, but I've taken biology classes. You could study the science of bonds for a lifetime and not know everything. But I'll tell you what I do know. When we share a pack bond with someone, we like them better and we get very protective of them. If they're threatened, it's a knee jerk reaction to protect them. The instinct to do so is so strong we'll turn against out-pack people we love without a thought. And that's the thing. We can overcome that by logic and reason, but not in a dire situation, and not in a split-second. As long as the rest of the Boltons were in immediate danger, the instinct would be hitting Knuckles over and over like a hammer. He couldn't stop himself from firing that bolt, but he was strong enough to use another instinct to buy you time."

"What instinct?"

"I don't know about you, but I, and most people I know, get that warm, itchy sensation in our skin when drop fangs. That's our instinct to pelt. Mostly, we ignore it, but when we don't, it's a relief to give into it. Especially when I'm in a fight my body wants to shift everything. The way you describe it, I think Knuckles' instinct wanted him to shift everything too, so he stopped holding back. So then he had two instincts in conflict with each other and chances are, that if you'd stuck around trying to reason with him, the pack instinct would have kept hitting him so hard he'd have killed you."

"That does make me feel marginally better." Honestly, Dick’s told himself that a million times already. He doesn’t think Knuckles holds a grudge, considering his last memory of Knuckles is how he tried to tell Dick something important. But it is a consolation to hear Aiden confirm that Dick had no choice. And even if Dick had fled and left Knuckles, Knuckles wouldn’t have tried to sneak away from the battle. He’d have fought and been killed like the rest.

They're quiet for a bit longer.

“Tell me another secret,” Aiden asks.

“Not all the Boltons were killed. Their Alpha Second, Marcel, got away. I had him trapped and Knuckles’ crossbow aimed at him, but I let him go.”

This time, Aiden doesn’t seem as surprised. Dick had expected him to smell angry, but he doesn’t. “Why?”

“Because Knuckles loved him.”

“Fair enough.”

"It doesn't anger you?"

"No. Many pack wars leave one survivor. The last standing enemy is often left to live as long as they don't pose a threat. Or if the pack surrenders they may be allowed to leave unharmed. Again, as long as they don't pose a threat. I like it better when more people survive. I hate needless killing."

“I’ve been thinking about Knuckles and Marcel a lot. Knuckles told me that if he couldn’t reach the rank of the Patriarch, he didn’t want to climb the ranks. He said he didn’t have a chance against the top five, so he was holding back until he got stronger. He’d asked Malicia to give him a decade, so he and Marcel could make the Boltons a pack all of us could be happy in. I saw Marcel be as abusive towards Knuckles as the rest of the pack. I nearly stabbed him for it. But I held back, because he and Knuckles had the most interesting public discussions. Then, when the Boltons took Knuckles back, Knuckles stopped faking being dumb and submissive, and skyrocketed in rank. It took a few days for him to stop the bullying completely. He and Marcel proved to be very close. I saw them make love and have long, muted conversations. Looking back, I think they were conspiring to take over the pack…”

Aiden hums. “Marcel is the only pack member I’ve heard Knuckles talk about aside from his twin. I think… Maybe…” He takes another sip of his drink then puts the empty glass away to wrap both his arms around Dick. “Sean, our Alpha Second, used to go undercover. As an undercover agent, you have a handler. Depending on the mission, you have to check in at different intervals, to keep you from either breaking apart or being corrupted. What if Marcel was that to Knuckles? What if he recognised the potential in Knuckles at a very early age, and started mentoring him? To fool his pack that he was stupid and not a threat, he’d have had to start early. But a kit wouldn’t have been able to do that alone. And how can anyone be bullied in their own pack and not get wanderlust? You’d have to have someone on the inside to love and comfort you.”

“That’s what I’m thinking too…”

“You want me to tell you a secret too?”

“Naturally, dear.”

“I’ve also been beating myself up about the Boltons,” Aiden confesses. “Sean came home one day, furious. The Boltons had moved in on our business. He wanted to call a meeting with them and put them in their place, then keep them under strict surveillance for a time to make sure they stayed in place. Sean’s as old-school as you get when it comes to how packs should interact. It wasn’t a huge overstep in the grand scheme of things, but they were allowed to live on our territory and work within our field. We were allies. Moving in on our business without discussing it beforehand is challenging us. Jed said to hold off. It was such a minor offence and we could take care of it later. He doesn’t mind allied packs profiting in our fields. I agreed with Jed, urging tolerance. So Jed said we’d set up a meeting with them later. Only, he’s so overworked and Jane knows nothing about our business so nothing was done about it. If we’d gone with Sean’s demands, the Boltons would never have gotten the chance to betray us as they did. And I keep feeling guilty about urging a peaceful solution since my vote tipped the scale.”

“Marcel was behind encroaching on your territory. Maybe he was trying to alert you to what was happening without actually going behind the back of his Main?”

Aiden groans. “Great. Now I feel even worse. We could have saved so many lives if we’d just acted sooner. Sometimes I wish people wouldn’t listen to me when I speak up about things.”

Dick chuckles. “Oh, dearheart, being brushed aside as unimportant is overrated, believe me.”

Aiden lets out a breathy chuckle just by Dick’s ear, giving him goosebumps. “Yeah. You’re right. It’s just that I’m too young to have the rank I have in the pack. If you think about it, it’s crazy. I’m just below our Second and I’ve done exactly nothing to gain that rank. I’m still in college, for crying out loud. And still, people many decades older than me, who have been fighting at the frontline for years, have real-life work experience as well as college degrees, look to _me_ for guidance. Tell me that isn’t insane? If they’re going to follow someone young they should pick Marlon. Don’t get me wrong, he’s an idiot―”

Dick bursts out laughing, splashing water with his leg. “Oh dear,” he giggles.

“He _is_ ,” Aiden says, grinning. “But at least he has a clear idea of what he wants and the drive to make it happen. And here I am, struggling with French verb conjugations and their many exceptions, and people expect me to provide answers about advanced politics and military tactics they’ve been involved in all their lives. I wish they’d let me be, so I can learn in peace instead of them thinking I came out of the womb full of ancient wisdom. Ugh.”

“Can’t you just ask them to back off?”

Aiden sighs and reaches for the bottle to refill his glass. “I could, but…” He takes a sip of his refilled glass and puts it away to wrap his arms around Dick again. “Right now I have a swing vote on any council, more or less. Mostly, I can sit back quietly with a thoughtful, listening expression and let strong wills battle it out. If they understand how lost I really feel, that reputation might stick and then I might run into trouble later in life when I need people to listen.” He sighs dramatically. “Being legendary stinks.”

Dick giggles. “You’re not that special,” he says.

Aiden smiles. “If you had red eyes, you’d understand.”

Dick hums and flares under his closed eyelids, smirking to himself. “Doubtful…”

* * *

Mal burrows her nose by his throat and takes deep, giggly breaths. “ _Mercury_ , Dick, what did you do? I thought he was taking you to a concert, but you smell like you did much more than that!”

“Indeed. He ruined my life, that’s what he did. He showed me a world you need to be rich to access, so now we have to become rich. And I mean the Williams type of rich, not our type of rich,” Dick answers and dangles his legs over the edge of the roof.

Mal grins. “Spill. Give me all the details. Why do you smell like you’ve been rubbing up against Aiden hecking Williams all night?”

“Oh, I did, more or less. The concert was wonderful. I was spellbound. But anytime I looked at Aid he was grinning at me. I don’t think he watched the stage at all. He said it brought him more joy to see me enjoy myself. When we walked from there he took my hand. I felt like I was floating and that my night couldn’t possibly get better. But then he suggested…” Dick tells Mal about the hotel, the bath, the massage, falling asleep spooned by Aiden and about the bountiful hotel breakfast. “...it was hard to tear myself away to go to work.”

“I bet! Did he pay for it? Or did they offer him the room for free?” Mal wants to know.

“I saw him writing a check,” Dick answers and watches the commerce in the market square below.

“How about that. Old Red-Eyes _can_ do it right, after all,” Mal says with a grin. She's been happy with Aiden since he fooled around with Laurent at the Sanctuary.

Dick smiles at his lap and picks on a loose thread on the inseam of his pants. He sighs. “It would be better if he didn’t. How the hell am I going to pry him loose from the Williamses?”

Mal tilts her head to look at him, lips pulling up in a corner. “You want him to run with us?”

“If I have my way, we’ll all run together in a pack someday. The real trick will be tracking down Arvid and roping him in. I’ll figure it out. I just need time.”

Mal laughs with a strong bust of happiness in her scent. Dick looks at her to find her beaming at him. “If anyone can, it’s gonna be you,” she says. It’s a heavy burden, the complete trust and faith he sees in her eyes. Maybe that’s why Marlon ran? It's definitely what Aiden was talking about. The burden of people looking to you to fix things. Dick doesn't feel lost, though. He feels determined. But he's scared. His health is declining and Marcel was wrong. His time is running out before he's even presented...

* * *


	17. The Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick's been struggling with depression all his life. His intense determination to live has let him combat it, but now his health is steadily declining and with it the darkest thoughts take over, making it hard for him to be smart and sensible. Laurent worries about Dick, but misinterpret the reason he should be worried. At the same time, a new opportunity presents itself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. I'm home from work because I'm sick. It feels like a normal cold so let's hope it is. :P 
> 
> In the meantime, have a chapter, and extend a thank you to my betas Lisa and Melina who took time out of their days to make sure it's readable. ;)
> 
> Stay safe.

* * *

Laurent has a pinched expression and smells faintly of anxiety after Dick asks him for uppers. He looks around at the people surrounding them on the Sanctuary’s dance floor, then gestures with his head for Dick to follow him to the restrooms. With a bad feeling in his gut, Dick follows. Once inside, they wait for the guy already in there to leave, then Laurent locks the door to the restroom with his master key, effectively cutting off anyone from going to any of the four toilets in there. It’s making Dick very nervous.

Laurent leans against the tiled row of sinks and turns towards Dick, crossing his arms over his chest with a troubled expression. 

“Oh, dear,” Dick says with a pleasant smile, though he feels like throwing up. “This can’t be good.”

Laurent shifts uncomfortably and drags a hand over his face then crosses his arms again. “No… I hate needing to have this talk, okay, Dicky?”

“Okay?”

“I’m going to have to start charging you for the drugs,” Laurent says gravely.

“Oh. That’s not a problem,” Dick says and reaches into his leather cuff to procure the money.

Laurent holds a hand out to stop him. “No, no. It _is_ a problem, but money isn’t the problem, your consumption is.”

Dick frowns in confusion. “I don’t understand.”

Laurent shifts uncomfortably again. “Look, Dicky, one of the reasons I hand out drugs to my friends for free is to keep an eye on how much they’re using. Mal and I, we’ve lost friends and, in a few cases, even packmates to addiction or overdoses. When I’m the one providing those drugs, I quickly notice when someone starts over-using or taking too much at once. I can't stop anyone from having a bad reaction to my stuff, but at least I know that they don't get bad shit. ...And, when a friend is slipping, I have this talk with them."

"You use drugs yourself," Dick states, keeping his voice pleasant and his tone more like a question than an accusation.

"Yes, I do," Laurent agrees without hesitation. "I got pretty heavily into it when I was close to dying and now I'm addicted. It's possible that I'll never manage to be a casual user. Definitely not as long as I'm a pusher. But keeping an eye on my friends helps me to be careful with how much and often I use, and sometimes it’s a struggle, but I have good self-discipline."

"You've had this talk with others in our rat pack?" Dick asks.

Laurent huffs and looks away. "I have. It would seem I'm unable to fall in love with people who don't have a penchant for addiction," he says self-deprecatingly then looks back at Dick. "But this is about you. Lately, you've been using more and more, to the point where I'm getting worried. You need to take a break from doing drugs for a while to get things under control. If you don't, I'll charge you for the drugs you use so you'll feel the consequences of your overconsumption more acutely."

Dick looks at his feet, lips stretching into a smile - a mask to hide his panic. "If I don't take them, my heart stops," he admits.

"No, no. That's the addiction talking,” Laurent argues. “When you use as heavily as you've been doing, your body starts pulling stunts on you. Withdrawal becomes a thing. But too many uppers too frequently and even the most healthy person runs a risk of having a heart attack.”

Dick swallows dryly, still smiling at his feet. It’s almost funny that a man who makes a living selling drugs is telling him to stop. For once, Dick’s heart is pounding hard and fast. He’s nauseous, debating whether to argue. 

When Dick doesn’t answer, Laurent goes on talking. “Look, Dicky, I love you. I don’t want to tell you what to do. But Mal and I… we’re planning to follow you. Mal will mate you, and I will leave my pack for you. I love my pack and there’s only one other person I’ve ever considered leaving the Hales for, and that’s Marlon―”

“Marlon’s gone,” Dick interrupts without lifting his gaze. His smile has frozen in place, his face feels like plaster, his body’s overheated and cold all at once.

“Yes, he is. And maybe he’ll never come back. If that’s the case, I hope he’s happy where he is,” Laurent says, acknowledging that Mar might never return for the first time. It makes Dick want to scream, but he keeps quiet. 

Laurent shifts uncomfortably again. Dick can’t see his face while looking at the floor. He’s zoning out. Not in the usual way, but it feels like he’s detaching from the present emotionally, even if he’s still hearing every word said. He’s there, but as a spectator rather than a participant.

Laurent lets out a frustrated sigh. “Either way, we need you to stay sharp. Up until now, you’ve made us your priority, you have since the very start. You might know very little about packrunning, but you’ve got the makings of Patriarch, or, heck, a Main, if that's how you present. Some people just have it, and you _do_. But if you fall prey to the drugs, that will all go down the drain. You’ll start prioritizing the drugs, lying, squandering money, mistreating yourself and us. I’ve seen it many times before. How do you think that will affect us if you do? You think Mal should mate someone like that? If we break off to form our own pack, we’ll be more vulnerable to misfortunes. And if you fall, I can go back to the Hales. But Mal? She can’t. Believe me, the more I think about what would happen if she went back to us, the more certain I am that bad things would happen. She’s already teetering on the edge, always one or two tragedies away from snapping. You stabilize her and make her happier than I’ve ever seen her. What do you think would happen if you OD’d after we have a pack bond in place? Dicky, all I’m asking is for you to take a break. Keep sober for a while. Just show us you’re not a slave to the drugs, so we know we’re betting on the right horse. Please?” 

The sense of impending doom that’s been his constant companion since he drew his first breath in this world presses in on Dick from every side. He can hear the grains of sand hit the rapidly growing pile in the bottom half of his hourglass. He isn’t sure if he’s hallucinating it or simply imagining it too vividly. He considers arguing, considers telling Laurent the truth, that his heart tries to stop almost daily now. But what's the point? He's certain they'd try to help him. But he'd be a burden and maybe they'd even pack bond prematurely with him. And what if that doesn't work? Last week Dick had an argument with Aiden who told him to stop leading Mal on. Dick hadn't stuck around to hear the rest of it. Chances are, he won’t make it. Chances are, they’re betting on the wrong horse and Knuckles was right all along. Dick never stood a chance. What would they do if he told Laurent that the uppers are practically life support at this point? Will Laurent change his mind? No. Even if he did, he’s right. Dick would be a slave to the drugs even if the reason is basic survival rather than chasing a kick. The outcome would be the same. He’d drag the two of them down rather than lift them up. Maybe it’s time to resign and give in to the truth - he’s doomed to failure. The only thing left to do is damage control.

Dick lifts his head to meet Laurent’s serious gaze. He nods. “Alright. I’ll stay sober for as long as you want me to,” he says, expression pleasant, a smile etched into his face as if it’s permanently burnt into place.

Laurent looks relieved. “Thank you, I―” He cuts off abruptly and narrows his eyes at Dick. 

Maybe he’s thinking that Dick will buy the drugs from someone else? Technically, he could do that. Use his savings to keep himself alive and pretend he’s adhering to Laurent’s plea. But then he’d be doing exactly what Laurent fears he would do, wouldn’t he? He wouldn’t deserve their devotion or to bond with them. He’s the wrong horse to bet on. He just didn’t see it before.

Laurent’s eyes widen and his brows draw together in concern. He suddenly smells of distress and fear. In two strides he’s all up in Dick’s face, grabbing his cheeks. “Or did you mean it literally, Dicky? I’m going off my own experiences, but I didn’t account for your handicap. Are you trying to tell me your heart is giving out and you’re using drugs like medicine?” he asks urgently. Dick wonders what he saw in Dick’s gaze to make him understand that? Dick’s certain he was only projecting acceptance. He’ll die, and spare his friends more misery. Laurent and Mal are worth it. “Dicky, you need to tell me if that’s the case, okay? Mar’s an addict but his brain is all messed up and he barely sleeps ever. _He_ uses downers to sleep, like medicine. When I asked him to take a break, he did. But he barely slept during that time and sleep-deprivation is as dangerous as the drugs themselves. That’s part of why I’m worrying when you use so many. Are you using them as medicine, Dicky? Are you? You _need_ to tell me,” Laurent half begs half demands.

Dick frowns, still smiling. He can’t get that smile off his face. He’s so numb he barely feels his skin. He wants to pull away, for Laurent to stop touching him. He wants to hide, and try to make sense of this. He feels cornered. Should he, or shouldn’t he lie?

The pause is too long. Laurent speaks again. “Did you present?” When Dick still doesn’t answer, Laurent repeats the question. “Did you present? You’re of an age when you might. But we’ve been waiting for you to tell us. We don’t want to be disrespectful and impatient, poking and prodding at you in ways you’d be uncomfortable with if you haven’t. You’d tell us, right?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know if you’d tell us?”

“I don’t know if I have. I don’t think so. Knuckles wanted me to ask you to test if I was an O. He couldn’t bear to do it himself,” Dick admits softly.

“You never asked," Laurent accuses.

“It seemed preposterous. And...” Dick trails off. 

“Afraid I’d hold you to the promise of mating me if that was the case?” Laurent grins. He looks chipper but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Don’t worry. You made that promise long before you really knew me. I won’t hold you to it.”

“No. I stand firm on my point. You’re the best mate anyone could ever hope for. I just don’t see why I would be an O when there are so few of them.” He means male Os, of course. Funnily enough, it was a male O that sparked the argument he had with Aiden last week. Keith, a handsome, genuinely nice Progressive guy that Aid had been far too devoted and protective of. So what if Dick had a jealousy fit? (Those happen way too often when hanging out with Aiden.) Still, no reason to rub Dick’s high risk of dying in Dick’s face by saying he’s leading Mal on.

“I’d think you’d know yourself when you present. Knuckles didn’t think so?” Laurent asks, concerned.

Dick shrugs, perma-smile in place. He wants Laurent to end this conversation so he can go home and crawl into his nest and release whatever emotional shitstorm is currently brewing inside of the hollow shell that is his body. Usually, he loves it when Laurent touches him but now he’s struggling not to pull away from the warm hands still holding his cheeks. “I don’t get erections when I touch myself.” Dick supplies unhelpfully. “I used to, before,” he clarifies, realizing that it might be important. “I even had a couple of orgasms. But I didn’t have a knot. Now I can’t check, since it barely even goes up when Aiden touches me.” Not completely true. But he needs a lot more for his dick to react than he used to, and since Aiden and he keep getting into fights it’s killed any arousal he’d felt. 

“He touches your dick?” Laurent asks, even more concerned, and lets his hands slide down to Dick’s shoulders.

Dick shakes his head. “He doesn’t have to. His scent…”

Laurent’s lips quirk upward in a tiny smile, despite the worry in his eyes and scent. “Okay, yeah, Aid’s damn well catnip to most of us.”

“When I asked Knuckles if what I had experienced was orgasms, he said it was and wanted me to ask you to check me. He couldn’t bring himself to do it,” Dick repeats. His own voice sounds hollow, echoing in the tiled bathroom. Distant. Someone tries the door handle, but neither he nor Laurent reacts.

“No. He never liked to hurt those he cared about. Molesting a minor would fall into that category. Is there any other reason to think you might have presented?”

“I like things I’m told I shouldn’t like,” Dick supplies dutifully.

“Like the kisses you and Mal share? She told me they were chaste?”

“She told you about that?”

“Yes. Did she downplay it?”

“You be the judge,” Dick says, wets his lips and leans down enough to capture Laurent’s lips in a soft, lingering kiss like the ones he shares with Mal. Laurent parts his lips just enough to slot them together perfectly. Laurent’s hand comes up to cup his cheek again, holding it there for the long seconds they remain standing like this.

Laurent breaks the tender press of lips to study Dick’s face. Whatever he sees there makes him lick his lips and lean back in. This time, though, he slips his tongue in after the initial press of lips. Dick closes his eyes and goes with it. He’s done this several times with Aiden, but somehow he hadn’t expected to get the same jolt to the system, the same butterflies and yearning from kissing Laurent. Unthinkingly, he wraps his arms around the shorter man and pulls him closer. Laurent is arguably a better kisser than Aiden. There’s no heat driving it, no amping it up to get to something else, only a slow, sensuous feeling that feels like the kindness and love Laurent has shown since day one. It’s much more like making love to Antoine, than Aiden’s rush to get them to a knotting. Dick’s heart beats erratically. The separation of self he’d felt, crumbles, snapping him back to fully feel again. It’s awful. He’s stupid, selfish, cruel to want this despite knowing he can’t. Aiden was right. He's leading Mal on. Leading Laurent on. He's the wrong horse to bet on.

Laurent breaks the kiss and scrutinizes Dick. "No feeling of revulsion?"

"No, dear. It’s quite lovely. I could do this all day," Dick confesses.

Laurent's eyes narrow suspiciously. "Was Knuckles right about Aiden's kiss?"

"I don't know, dearheart. I don't remember. But it seems highly unlikely, don't you think?" Dick deadpans.

Laurent nods. "Yeah, you're right." After a pause, he takes a deep breath. "You trust me, right?" Dick nods. "Then tell me if I'm making you uncomfortable in any way,” Laurent commands and leans to the side to rub his nose against the gland behind Dick's ear.

Normally, Dick would love that. Now he's stuck in a dark whirlpool of doomsday-dark thoughts and just wants to leave leave leave. And maybe, if he was thinking clearly, he’d tell Laurent that it’s shitty timing to go on to touch him like this straight after telling him that if he keeps doing drugs they won’t bond with him, won’t mate him, won’t risk themselves in case there’s heartbreak to be had up ahead. Like everyone ever. Like his parents. He closes his eyes. He was stupid to dream. Dumb dumb dumb to want to stay alive. At least when he dies, Antoine will be waiting for him. The longing for Antoine becomes a physical ache in his chest. He’s rapidly getting a headache when he feels Laurent’s warm tongue against his gland. 

“Alright, I need you to turn around so I can pull down―, _crap_ , nevermind,” Laurent says and takes a step away from Dick. “Either you haven’t presented or you don’t want _me_ touching you,” Laurent says.

Dick opens his eyes, still smiling. “It’s fine. You can go ahead.”

Laurent frowns at him. “It’s not fine. You were supposed to tell me if I was making you uncomfortable. Instead, you dropped full fangs and teethed all your teeth. You’re giving me mixed signals, but I can’t misconstrue _that_.”

Which explains the headache. Dick tongues his teeth and lets them go back to normal. He hadn’t even noticed.

Laurent studies Dick with a troubled frown for a beat. Then he steps up close and grabs Dick's shoulders. "Dicky, if you're getting worse, you need to tell us. There are desperate measures we can resort to in hopes of curing you. But if we do it while you're still a Juvie it might have dire consequences―"

"What consequences?" Dick interrupts him.

"I don't know. You might get emotionally scarred, our relationship might be permanently damaged, I might be emotionally scarred by it too. _I don't know_. There’s no precedence to draw from. But listen to me. _I will do it_. Even if it means you want nothing to do with me afterward. My days are numbered either way, so sacrificing my future to ensure you get one is a small price to pay. All I need is your go-ahead. We're working on the assumption that Knuckles was right and you're safe until you present. But if he wasn’t, tell me, okay? You _need to tell me._ "

"Of course. May I leave now?" If it might have any ill-effects on Laurent, it's not an option. As much as he wants a happily ever after, the goal was always to secure _their_ future.

Laurent holds him still, gaze drilling into Dick's as if he's trying to read Dick's mind. Dick hopes he fails. Or maybe he’s trying to will Dick into giving him the go-ahead to do something that might scar Laurent and ruin their relationship? No. That won’t happen. 

At last, Laurent deflates. "Did you enjoy the kiss? Or did I read you all wrong?"

"Very much, dear." It’s true. _That_ , at least, is true.

Laurent nods and takes a small paper package from his pocket. He hands it to Dick. "Here. It's ten uppers. Make them last a month. If you can do that, we'll pretend I never had the talk with you, okay? Everything goes back to normal. And if you can't, then you'll have to pay for more, okay? I won’t cut you off. Hell, I’ll let you buy cheaper than market price rather than you buy from someone else. I worry about you, alright? But I won’t take away your choice. You get that?"

Dick nods. "Yes, dear."

"And _tell me_ if your health is getting worse," Laurent urges.

"Naturally."

Once Laurent unlocks the door for the line of disgruntled people, Dick flees home, hoping to make sense of his thoughts and feelings. It doesn't really work.

* * *

Dick wakes up with a jerk.

_Ba-domp._

_Ba-domp._

His heart's barely beating. He's cold, his brain's fogged, he's out of breath and it's hard to move. Every limb in his body feels heavy. He reaches for the pillbox under the pillow then remembers it's empty. Ten uppers only lasted him eight days. It's a struggle to sit up, even more of a struggle to stand. He starts jogging in place with high leg lifts until he's starting to get warm and his heart beats a little bit faster. He gets dressed and goes to the roof. He climbs down carefully, afraid of falling when he's this stiff, then sets off running as soon as he reaches the ground. It's taking longer and longer to get his heart to work properly again after he's slept. He can sleep for fewer and fewer hours before his heart tries to fail him. It's a huge problem. His mental faculties are compromised as well, giving him a near-constant brain fog. More and more often he makes irrational decisions that seem perfectly logical and sane at the time. That’s been going on for a while and he wonders if he’s acquired permanent brain damage after the events surrounding Knuckles being taken back by the Boltons, or if it’s just a side-effect of sleep deprivation.

At first, running makes him dizzy and out of breath since his heart isn't pumping fast enough. But finally, he starts getting a fast pulse and running goes easier. He slows to a ground-eating lope and makes it to the college campus within an hour. There, he finds a tree near the wall and uses it to climb the wall.

Dick's got a new obsession: The Omega Run. Ever since Aiden told him about it, he's been intrigued and harboured a secret wish to outdo Aiden on it. He’s been avoiding Aiden since their last fight, though. 

The Omega Run, in addition to man-made obstacles, has trees. Rather, it goes through a small forest. The forest provides a slew of new challenges for Dick when it comes to climbing and stealth. So any pre-dawn morning Dick wakes with barely a heartbeat and needs to strain himself to coax his heart into a normal rhythm again, he goes here. By the time he arrives at the Run, his heart is acting normally and all that’s left to do is to play, to shake the dread. Moving stealthily through trees, grass, dry leaves and shrubs is different from sneaking in a city. It took him a while to figure out how to do it. Same thing with climbing trees. They're not as predictable as man-made structures. However, they've got a lot more handholds than the things he's used to climbing. He learns to gauge how living branches hold weight in comparison to planks and rotting wooden beams. He learns how to use the canopies to hide and the different properties of the tree types. He's having fun―a bandaid over the gaping wound of terror caused by his almost daily near death.

He's been here for nearly two hours now. The sun is up and a few people have started moving on the campus paths in the distance. It's time to head back home to eat to replenish all the energy he spent. He runs on a wide branch and jumps off it just as it starts thinning, getting a boost on his jump when the branch springs back. He lands on two branches in the next tree, spreading his weight between them. He crawls to the trunk and climbs upwards to a place where a thick branch connects with another thick branch on the next tree and moves to that tree with minimal disturbance of the leaves. That’s the main game - to not be heard or seen. The other game, the one he plays earlier in the dawn light, is to be fast. The two are hard to combine. He moves up the next tree to a spot where he’s mostly covered by branches but has an open space to jump to another tree. Like that he moves several trees until a gap forces him to do one of those big jumps that reveal his position.

“There! There he is! Fuck me!” Dick hears someone shout midway through his jump. He spots two men in uniform, one of them pointing at him, and hides behind the trunk as soon as he lands. His heart jackrabbits and his backbone reaction is flight.

“Sir! That was incredible! May we speak to you for a minute?” one of the men calls out.

Carefully, Dick peeks through the leafwork at the men on the ground. They’re dressed in military uniforms, not campus security uniforms. “I can hear you just fine from here,” he answers.

“Sir. I’m Sergeant Pepper and this is Sergeant Hassan. We’re recruiters for the United States Army forces. We think you’d be well suited for the army and would like to talk to you.”

Dick frowns in confusion, wondering if it’s a trap. But he finds himself curious. He climbs down to a lower branch about one story up and sits on it so they can see him. "And you just strolled around the forest when everyone’s asleep, thinking you'd find a prospective soldier?"

Sergeant Pepper chuckles. "No, Sir. We were inspecting the Omega Run to see what parts of the track are the most interesting to keep an eye on later today when people run here. We’ve found that the Run is a great place to weed out prospective officers amongst students.”

“In that case, you’re wasting your time on me. It will be at least a decade before I’ve scraped together enough money to study here. I’m a slum-dweller, you see? I was born on the dock under a cart. If it’s those privileged, self-pompous students you’re after―”

Sergeant Pepper interrupts him. “It’s not. We’re looking for any able-bodied person over the age of 18 years old that shows promise of becoming a good soldier. We’re first and foremost looking for officers. But you mentioned scraping together money for education. If you are interested, and pass certain tests, the army will teach you to read and write―”

Dick interrupts the Sergeant by laughing. “I can read and write just fine, dear. In several languages. I’m an autodidact. I work as an interpreter, kindly helping refugees and immigrants to become US citizens. For a fee, naturally. I also dabble in tax deductions, teaching English, and reading to those who can’t. It’s not basic schooling I’m after, it’s those shiny papers you get by studying there,” he points at the main building in the distance, “that open doors to well-paying jobs.”

Both men start smelling excited. “In that case, Sir, you’re exactly what we’re looking for. Let me tell you what we can do for you…”

* * *

"They really offered you all that for joining?" Laurent asks while reading through the brochure, cigarette pinched in his mouth. Dick told them about it when he bumped into Laurent and Mal (taking a different route than normally, in an effort to, unsuccessfully, avoid them) - the education, pay while getting educated, access to medical care, three years of schooling and three years of service and then freedom with papers valued as high as Aiden’s fancy college education. There are recruiters in the slums too, but they never pitch a sale like this. They’re looking for grunts, holding up glory, valor, duty, and the promise of getting fed daily as their bait - not shiny papers and a salary.

"Yes, they did," Dick answers, leaning towards the flame of Mal's lighter to light his own cigarette.

"Why did you say no?" Mal asks and takes a bite of her sandwich. "It's a damned fine offer." They're sitting on the dock, dangling their feet over the water, Dick bracketed between them. Dick's already finished his fifth meal for the day. He's spending so much energy constantly moving and not sleeping that he needs to eat what feels like his own weight daily to stay alive. It’s getting expensive and exhausting.

"I didn’t say no, dear. I said I’d think about it."

"We could join the army together, if you really want to?" Mal suggests.

"Lovely," Laurent mutters. "I've just gotten out of the violent parts of my job and now I'm off to war."

"I wasn't talking about you, turd-head," Mal says with an eye-roll.

"I know. But this is a pack thing to do. We're a pack, bonded or not. If it's time to choose now, then I'll go with you, donkey-brain," Laurent answers testily. He gestures at the brochure. "And this is a pretty solid deal. If we pass the tests required to become an officer all we have to do is stay alive for six years and we'll have a chance for a well-paying legal job, cleaning up our act. We're all literate and Dick can train us to get even better. We could ask Aid for old school books to get a more well-rounded education before we apply. Apparently, the army doesn't care _how_ you acquired your education, only for your knowledge and skills."

Mal looks skeptical. "None of the officers I've met have an education like that. Not counting Sean since he went to college _before_ he enlisted." Ah. The elusive Sean Williams. Laurent’s said Sean has asked for Dick several times but somehow, they’ve never managed to meet. Rather, Dick can’t remember meeting Sean even if Sean supposedly has met Dick. It’s confusing. Dick’s feelings about the Williamses aren’t very charitable and he’s in no rush to meet and get his heart trampled by yet another one of them. He aches for Aiden.

"Yeah, but that's because the only officers who end up in the slums after their retirement are field promotions. Says here you can reach the rank of an officer in the field too by showing exceptional valor and leadership abilities. They’re hardly gonna send you back to base to teach you literacy when you’re already in the trenches. According to this,” Laurent holds up the brochure, “they’ll only cut the education short if there’s a public drafting. But if there is, they’ll commit to finish the promised education afterwards as agreed to when signing papers. So sure, it’s a gamble, but it’s still a sweet deal.”

“The odds are stacked against us either way, since there’s a war going on,” Dick points out.

“True. But if we sign up like this, the army will be held to their promises and any time served under a general draft would still count under the three years we’d owe them back. _Plus_ we’d get paid better than normal grunts. If we’re simply drafted the ordinary way they’d owe us diddly-squat. And if we stick by the army after our promised three years, there are some mighty fine careers to be had,” Laurent says and takes a deep drag of his cigarette. He suddenly looks mischievously at Mal. “ _Aaand_ , they have a medical program,” he adds slyly.

Mal throws herself across Dick’s lap to snag the brochure from Laurent. “Give me that,” she says and starts leafing through it with a frown while Laurent sniggers.

“You want to work within the healthcare profession?” Dick asks and sucks on his cigarette. He’s been sitting for too long. He can feel his heart slow down and his reinforced friendship bonds aren't helping. It’s soon time to get up and start moving. It’s a problem. It also means that he’ll have to eat soon again. It’s like back in the old days when he had to keep track of the energy he spent and how much food he had to consume to make up for it.

“Not really,” Mal answers while stopping at a certain page, reading with a concentrated frown. Marlon taught Laurent to read and Laurent taught Mal. Mal isn't a very fast reader yet, though. “But everyone I love keeps dying all the time, and I figured, getting medical training maybe I can stop it? But I know I could never afford the education needed to become a doctor.”

“So should we do it? Join the army, all three of us?” Laurent asks and looks at Dick. Mal lifts her gaze to seek Dick’s, attentively waiting for the answer.

Dick’s smile freezes on his face for a bit before he can get it under control again. He’s dying and he knows it. Knuckles was right. Dreamers feel their failures more acutely. Dick’s realised the sand in his hourglass is running out and he can do nothing to stop it. The offer from the recruiters came two, three years too late. The only reason he could think of to join now, is to die _away_ from Mal and Laurent and lift any guilt they might feel otherwise. And yet, here they are, both willing to leave everything to follow him, looking at him for guidance. As if he isn’t questioning and second-guessing even the most trivial decisions lately. This is what Aiden was talking about. Three or maybe even two months ago, Dick couldn’t relate. Now he’s running on less than three hours of sleep daily and hasn’t had a truly positive thought in weeks, that he can remember. He’s constantly fighting the urge to leave and hide away in a hole somewhere. From what he’s heard, that feeling is a primitive instinct to lead any predators away from the rest of the pack when dying. He doesn’t want to die. But he doesn’t want to be a burden to his friends either. He’s lost, and held in the chains of dark thoughts. “You sound like you’re advocating for us to join,” Dick says to Laurent and takes a puff of his cigarette. “But, as you yourself pointed out, you just got out of having a violent job.”

“I know. But there’s a world of difference between taking a sledgehammer to the kneecap of someone who borrowed money at a too high interest rate, trying to survive, and gutting up people who invaded our country with the intention to kill and enslave us. It’s not like America is sending troops to invade other countries. I wouldn’t be the bad guy, I’d be doing the right thing. Besides, while in training you’d have access to the military hospital at the base. They’ve got tons of experience of dealing with scentlessness.”

“Yeah, but not with people who are born with it,” Mal counters.

“They don't have to know that, do they? Unless he tells them, how would they know, mush-face? He’s got a perfectly valid excuse to be scentless. He lost his whole pack not too long ago,” Laurent deadpans.

Dick loves to hear them bicker. Who’d have thought name-calling could feel so loving? He misses hearing Mar and Aid bicker. He swears that if Mar ever comes back he’s gonna break that perfect damned nose of his. Heck, if he knew Mar was coming back he'd find a way to stay alive just so he could throw that punch.

“Point,” Mal answers and stuffs the rest of her sandwich in her mouth. They’re all quiet for a bit, watching seagulls dive and fight over a dead fish floating in the water. “I’d look darn fine in a uniform,” she says when she’s finished chewing.

“Oh dear, you certainly would,” Dick says and looks at her, imagining her in one. He looks at Laurent imagining him in a uniform too. “You both would. Now, that’s an image I didn’t need as a base for my decision,” he complains.

Both of them grin. “Does that mean we’re doing it?” Laurent asks.

“I’ll think about it,” Dick decides. Seven more days before he can ask Laurent for an upper again. Seven more days to stay alive without artificial help. Maybe he can come to some sort of conclusion by then? Maybe, when he gets to take one he won’t feel how bone-tired he is?

He decides that when he gets to take one again, he’ll ask Laurent to take those desperate measures. They’re willing to follow him to war, so maybe maybe maybe he’ll let himself be a burden to them and tell them what shape he’s really in…

* * *


	18. Doomsday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything goes to shit Dick finds out he's an Omega in a startling way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another one of those chapters that got too long so I had to divide it in two. For everyone's sake, I'll share this spoiler: Dick survives. Now you know and won't have to fret.
> 
> I hope you're all doing fine. I'm at home, sick. It's my second week and the nurses I've spoken to on the phone all tell me it sounds like covid-19, but here in my region of Sweden they only test people who need urgent care and hospitalization. The rest of my family are starting to show symptoms as well which scares the shit out of me since I live with my parents to help care for them and they're in the risk category. Thus far, though, none of us are seriously ill. Let's hope it remains that way.
> 
> So. Here, have some Dick-trauma. ^^

* * *

He doesn’t sleep. He faints for half an hour at irregular intervals and wakes up with a jerk. His days have narrowed to eating and moving. Since he can’t be still for too long he barely goes home. When he finally does go home, a Hale is stationed on his roof with a letter for him. He can’t remember the name of the guy although he knows that he should. Thinking is hard. “Are you alright, Dicky?” the guy asks, giving him an odd look.

“I’m fine, dear,” Dick answers. Jesse. Jesse is the guy’s name. This isn’t his regular route but he’ll temp occasionally. Dick remembers.

“You don’t look fine. Have you slept?” Jesse worries.

“Get off my back,” Dick snipes with a fake smile. He should be polite but it’s hard. He just wants to be left alone. Two more days. It’s all he’s asking. Two more days before he can ask Laurent for an upper.

“You’ve lost weight,” Jesse states, frowning deeply in concern.

Dick drops his smile. _You try being in constant motion and see how well you keep fat on your bones,_ he thinks testily. “My back. You’re on it. I want you to vacate the premise,” Dick says flatly and opens the envelope to peek inside at a lone sheet of paper. 

Jesse rolls his eyes but smells of anxiety. “If you need food, tell us. Laurent asked us to keep an eye on you, but you’re never at home.” The Hales are all far too concerned about what he does and where he is. That’s why he’s avoiding them. They’re not supposed to know how bad off he is right now. 

“I said _I’m fine_. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” Dick snipes then turns and leaves, ignoring Jesse calling after him. It’s getting increasingly cold fast as autumn closes in on winter. The wind is biting today and the dark clouds above loom threateningly. Dick runs and jumps from one roof to another before sliding down to the ground via a drainpipe. He’s stupid. He should have gone inside. He’d gone home to put on warmer clothes but had felt cornered and put on the spot, so he didn't. Now he disappears in the bustle of people milling about and finds a crate in an alley to sit on while he reads. It’s a letter from Aiden.

“ _Dear Richard,_

_I sincerely apologize for my behavior the last time we met. I’ve realized you’re avoiding me, and it made me think of how the things I said might have been hurtful. It wasn’t fair, and for that, I’m sorry._

_I'd like for the two of us to sit down and talk it over in private. You have a penchant for storming out, and I’m a dumb, proud Alpha who refuses to give chase, but then I end up regretting my stubbornness. I was thinking, if we lock ourselves into a room, determined to talk about everything we’re trying so hard not to talk about, then perhaps we’ll finally resolve our problems once and for all._

_Please, Richard, come find me._

_Love, Aiden._ ”

Dick frowns in confusion. What does he mean by ‘things we try not to talk about’? How Dick’s much worse off than he's trying to pretend? Maybe. And heck if Dick couldn't need a second opinion on what to do about Mal and Laurent or the army. It’s so damn hard to think. All he wants to do is sleep. One good night’s sleep is all he’s asking for, to get rid of the brain fog and the ache in his bones. But he’s too terrified he’ll never wake up if he falls asleep. 

Although, Antoine is on the other side. If he isn’t waiting, Dick could go find him. It would be all over, but he wouldn’t be alone. Worst case, he’d have to battle a god to pry Antoine loose. How hard can it be? He’s sure he could do it. And he really has to stop thinking about Antoine because when he does, the call from the abyss of oblivion tempts him like never before. He doesn’t want to die. He doesn’t want to die. He doesn’t want to die. He has to keep reminding himself that. He doesn’t want to live like _this_ , but he wants to live. Going to Aiden to ask for advice is probably a good idea.

Two hours later he’s disgruntled and miserable. Apparently, Aiden’s at HQ today, not at campus. The wind’s picking up and the first icy drops of rain are starting to fall. Dick decides to go home to get warmer clothes then go to the Williams Corp HQ. Normally, he’d go to HQ first since it’s closer, but since he needs to be in constant motion the zigzagging all across the city works for him. He stops to buy grilled chicken from a vendor and gulps it down in five bites, shifting his jaw and throat to do so despite the abhorred looks from some people nearby. Let them look. He needs the energy boost and needs it fast.

He licks off the grease of his fingers and starts walking.

When he’s reached the part of the city where the lower middle class lives, he’s regretting the decision to go home first. The wind has picked up and sleet is pouring down, yet lots of people are still going about their day. He's soaked to the skin, so cold he's shivering, teeth chattering. He can barely feel his face and hands. The hard wind makes it feel like he's encapsulated in ice. His sense of smell is shot to smithereens, nose completely numb. If he doesn't get warmed up soon he'll get pneumonia.

He realizes he'll never make it home like this in his condition. Against better judgment, he pelts. Once, when Aiden was flirting with an O at the Sanctuary, Aiden had pelted only parts of his face like a mask accentuating his cheekbones and eyes (as if he’d need any more attention drawn to his eyes). Dick doesn’t know how to do that or he’d never pelt visible parts. The tip of his nose, his nostrils and lips remain uncovered to the hostile weather and his facial hair is shorter and finer than on the rest of his body. His dirt-colored fur isn’t very long, but it’s dense enough to give him some protection against the ice-cold sleet. It won’t last long in these conditions, especially not when he’s wearing clothes that are already soaked.

He huddles against the wind and starts jogging. “Animal!” someone shouts. Dick doesn’t realize they’re yelling at him until he’s hit by a small rock on his arm. Startled, he’s too numb for it to have hurt, he stops and turns around to growl at his assailant. To his surprise, the man that yelled at him is a Conservative with a wooden star pin proudly on display, not a Prog. Worse, he isn't alone.

"Your kind should be kept in zoos!" someone yells behind Dick.

"Yeah! You think you can slaughter innocent people in the streets and get away with it?" a third person yells.

"My cousin knew someone innocent who was killed at the Kerrington market massacre!"

Dick snarls and spins around to find himself surrounded by a quickly forming mob. It’s as if the people have been waiting for any reason to channel their frustration and anger. Some people are armed with knives, rocks, or short pipes from where a nearby sewer is being repaired. He's terrified. The Kerrington market is Swift's territory and the newspapers had dubbed the pack war a massacre of innocents. Nobody innocent was hurt or killed but these people don't care for the truth. They're mistreated and discontent, looking to pin the blame for their growing misery on someone. The media has done it's best to point the finger at shifters and Packrunners. And here he is in all his glorious stupidity, pelting in public.

Someone grabs his arm. Dick spins around, pulling his knife, slashing and roaring, dropping fangs as fast as he can. The woman lets go but others close in and try to grab him. Someone throws another stone that he barely dodges. There's a sudden burning sensation in his side. He spins around again, slashing with his knife. It opens up a gap in the crowd that he dives through.

By some miracle, he manages to free himself from the circle and takes off at a sprint. Fear burns like acid in his veins and throat as the mob takes up the chase, yelling "Animal!", "Murderer!", "Sniffler!" and "Get him! Stop him!" after him. He’s fast, widening the gap to his pursuers. But he won’t last long without eating again and he knows it. 

There are more people up ahead so Dick dives into a narrow street lest they join the posse. He runs close to the wall, looking for places to hide or climb. He'd be safe on the roof but with his fingers numb and wet from the cold he doesn't think he can climb if there are no pronounced handholds. His panic makes it hard to think. He can hear the mob getting close to the street he's on, about to turn the corner at any moment.

He passes a doorway and sees movement from it in the corner of his eye just before he's yanked into it. His face snaps towards the grabber. All he has time to see is a fist before everything goes dark.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
.

It's warm. _He's_ cold, but the air is warm and smells faintly but pleasantly of an unfamiliar Alpha and burning wood. Dick's sense of smell is still mostly numbed. He's wrapped in something warm and soft. A blanket. He's lying on something hard but padded and there's a pillow under his head. His body hurts in several places and he's got a slight headache. He’s lightheaded, has a strange, bloated-feeling belly ache and it feels like he’s burned himself on his midriff. His body shakes with a stray tremor that makes his teeth chatter for a beat before he relaxes. He groans and lifts his hand to finger a slight bump on his temple.

"There you are. I was beginning to worry I hit you too hard. Sorry about that, Skippy. I didn't think you'd follow me inside otherwise."

Dick opens his eyes to find himself looking into the lemon gaze of an Alpha he recognizes. The Snatcher is squatting right before him with a small smirk. Dick growls a warning. _I'll defend myself if you don't back off._

The Snatcher holds up his hands in surrender and rises, then goes further into the room to sit down by a table. "Not going to hurt you, Skippy."

"You can try," Dick sasses and sits up, holding the black blanket wrapped around himself. He's on a kitchen bench, one of those with built-in storage. Above him is a coat rack and there's a door to his right. The room is bigger than Dick's apartment but not huge by any means. The floor is covered by mismatched rugs, there's art on the walls, a sink, a pot cabinet, a tiled stove, a small table with a pot, a pitcher, and two chairs. There are heavy mismatched curtains in front of the windows and a door to the Snatcher's left. "I won't let you sell me to slavery," Dick adds for good measures.

The Snatcher chuckles. "I have no intention to. You're not a prisoner here, Skippy. The door's unlocked. You can leave whenever you want. Although, I'd suggest you stick around for a bit. You've only been out for 20 minutes, and they're still looking for you."

20 minutes is a long time to be out of it after a knockout. But the way Dick's feels, it's more likely his body went 'Oh we're finally sleeping now? Well, alrighty then.' There's no nausea, no blinding headache or any confusion worse than he experienced before he got hit.

"So you brought me here out of the kindness of your heart, huh?" Dick asks sarcastically.

"Hey, the world is a cruel place to our kind."

" _Our_ kind?"

The Snatcher pelts. His fur is gorgeous and thick, reddish-brown with dark stripes and a creamy yellow on his face and throat, lemon flare accentuated by a black and a white line. He unpelts again. "Look, Skippy―"

"It's Dick. Dick Roman."

"Dick? Alright, Dick. I'm Jason Foster. You're a guest in my apartment and I will treat you as such. You hungry? I was just about to eat when I saw the ruckus," Jason says and gestures at one of the windows.

Dick stands up and goes to try the door handle, wearing the blanket like a cape. The door opens to a stone landing with another apartment door opposite and a stair leading both up and down. He closes the door and wraps the blanket tighter around himself as he's hit by another stray shiver. He turns around to find Jason looking at him with amusement.

"I know I'm not one of the good guys," Jason says when Dick remains standing, watching him suspiciously. "Yes, I kitnap people for a living, but I've got standards. Unlike some of my colleagues, I only take those in desperate need of help, that would surely die otherwise. If that also happens to put money in my pocket that I need to pay my way out of the gutter, so what?"

"You think you're _helping_ your victims? Oh dear, you have to explain what convoluted thinking led you to that conclusion."

Jason shrugs and reaches for the pot. He uses a big wooden spoon to serve what looks like a stew in two bowls. One of the bowls is put on Dick's side of the table along with a spoon. Then he pours two glasses of apple juice and beckons for Dick to come to sit. "We're not so different, you and I. I grew up on the streets. I have no memory of any parents. Me and this other kit, Jared, were inseparable. We stole to survive," he says and starts eating. Dick takes a few careful steps towards him. "Then one day, by my estimate, I was maybe six? Jared was eight years old. Anyway," he pauses to take another spoonful of stew, chews, swallows and goes on. "We were found by Snatchers and Jared got caught. I got away, but, shortly thereafter, I was taken by the cops and put in an orphanage, where I got my last name."

Dick's curiosity gets the better of him and he comes closer. The stew looks good. Jason invitingly pushes the chair opposite of him with his foot. This is how they got Dick the first time - kindness. Dick throws a look at the door behind him then takes another step closer to the table.

"The orphanage was a nightmare. You're lucky to never have ended up in one. It was basically storage. They kept us locked in and fed us swill, but only as little as they could get away with and still keep us alive. Several kits had to share each pallet and we only got to wash once a week. It was drafty, cold, or stiflingly hot, and there were always sick kits amongst us and absolutely _nothing_ to do." Jason pauses to take a drink. "The boredom was the worst. But if you were lucky and exceptionally cute and well behaved, you could get moved to one of the orphanages meant for inspections and demonstrations. The Rumsfeldts have those to impress people into donating."

"You were one of the well-behaved ones?" Dick tries not to sound too skeptical.

Jason chuckles again. "Hardly. I didn't learn to act until my Juvies." He eats some more. "During the time I was locked up, I held on to the thought of Jared. I was determined to escape so I could save him. Took me nearly three years to manage to get out, another year to find him. He was chained to a workstation. His chain was long enough that he could reach a mattress he shared with another kit. He could also reach a washbasin and potty. Several times a day they were fed real food and every night before bedtime an Alpha came in to read a story to them. The room was comfortably warm and if they got hurt they'd be patched up. A few times a week they were allowed out in a courtyard to play soccer. He and the other kits chatted and laughed while they worked."

Another pause to eat and Dick finally sits down. This close he can smell the stew. Its scent is as savory as it looks.

"Jared didn't want to be saved. To him, it was great. Food, friends, comfort, pride in accomplishment - he felt safe. He didn't want to be starved, cold and afraid all the time. Compared to what we had before, it was good."

"I'd rather die than be a slave," Dick states and sniffs the glass of juice. He takes a sip. It's sweet and tangy. He tries the stew. It's rich in taste and he shifts his mouth and throat to wolf it down in one go, washing it down with the juice.

Jason grins at him. "You and me both. But that's why I only take those who are out of luck. With how many orphans there are, I can afford to be picky. If they're not in immediate threat of dying, I don't take them. And I don't work for employers that don't take care of the kits somewhat decently. So, I’m not a good guy, but not one of the bad guys either."

The stew makes a good job of warming Dick from within and he finally unpelts. He's still mostly moist but the wetness is warmed up by the thick, black blanket and the room.

"Just look at you. I've kept my eyes on you too and fro, and you were doing fairly well. But the first time I tried to take you, you had lost everything including the clothes on your back, and winter was approaching. The second time, you were in a bad shape and had presented," Jason goes on with a gesture.

"P-presented?" Dick stutters, mind grinding to a halt. "What makes you think that?"

"I saw you when you were shirtless, washing over a barrel. I could see the gland at the knob of your spine leaking and I thought that a loner like you might be in trouble. Because of your scentlessness, you see? I don’t know shit about stuff like that, but I’ve seen enough scentless folks to know it’s harder for adults." 

"The g-gland?"

"Mhm. Dead giveaway," Jason agrees good-naturedly. He draws a breath, hesitates, then relaxes, as if he’s making his mind up about something. "I've been thinking of you since I ran into you at the campus. How would you feel about partnering up? I'm not looking to have kits in decades, but I would like to get mated to someone like me. Who knows what it's like to grow up on the streets but has that fire required to move upward in the world. I think you’ve got it. We’d be a good fit."

"How's the gland a giveaway?" Dick asks, ignoring the outlandish suggestion for now.

"Only Omegas have them," Jason answers easily, as if he isn't just shifting Dick's whole world view. The pure terror Dick's feelings must shine through because Jason loses his amused expression and goes serious. "You didn't know?" Dick shakes his head in a jerky motion.

"That's not good. Haven't you had any other signs? Gotten hot and feverish? Soaking your pants in slick? Sexual urges?"

Slowly, Dick nods.

Jason leans back, pushing his food aside. He lifts his hand and taps his lips with his index finger in a thinking gesture, scrutinizing Dick. “Just so I got it right… You didn’t know you’ve presented? Or you didn’t know anyone else knew?”

“I didn’t know. You sure I’m an O?”

“Definitely. How come you didn’t know? You’ve been fucking Williams for months. By the way, feel free to mention to him that I saved your life. I could always use his gratitude. Wait… are you telling me he thinks he’s fucking a Juvie?” Jason looks scandalized for a beat, then his face smooths out. “No, of course not. He’d know you’re an O the moment you got wet or enjoyed him bad-touching you.” He chuckles and shakes his head in amusement.

“I haven’t been fucking him.”

“Really? I could have sworn it. Boy, that must really hurt his pride,” Jason sniggers. He considers Dick in silence for a while with a little smirk. “Okay, here’s the thing, Dick. I’m not big on the whole sex thing. I enjoy the hell out of it, like everyone else, but up until now, I’ve been too focused on getting myself out of the gutter to worry about any O. I’m not nearly as experienced as Williams. But I’m here thinking… Sex is one hell of a mood booster. You should get yourself laid asap, what with the whole…” he taps his nose to indicate Dick’s scentlessness, “going on. And you’re here, so I’m up for giving it a go if you’re interested.”

Dick snorts. “You think I’m more inclined to say yes if you spin it as if you’re doing me a favor?” he asks flatly.

“You’re ignoring that I proposed we get mated way before I propositioned you?” Jason shakes his head. “Fine. No. If sex isn’t a mutually beneficial activity, then what’s the point? If anything, I’d say I wouldn’t be doing you a favor since you’re a virgin and I’ve got a big knot. If you’ve got a low pain tolerance you’re probably better off letting some gentle, small-knotted Alpha break you in. I’m practical. I’m far more interested in having you as a life partner than getting a roll in the hay. But it would be a lie to say I wouldn’t be delighted to get it on.”

“You’d like to mate me?” Dick asks skeptically.

“Mhm. You’re welcome to move in with me for a trial period if you’d like to get to know me better. I’ve got a bedroom with a big bed and enough unused storage space for us to fit in your stuff and put in another desk. Both of us are ambitious and have powerful friends in different cliques. I think you’ll end up seeing how partnering up can be practical for both of us.” Jason sniggers then, a playful gleam in his eyes. “But for now, why won’t you go ahead and let the,” he pauses to accentuate the joke, “ _big, scary Snatcher_ , show you a good time?” he says and winks.

Dick wonders if he needs it. If sex really will solve all his health problems like his friends seem to believe. Jason might be the boogieman of his life, but he smells good, is, objectively, reasonably pleasant to look at, and he did just save Dick’s life. Dick might just as well have woken up bound and gagged, on his way to be sold. Not right next to the unlocked door, served food and drink, and sheltered from enemies. There was no need to put up a charade to win Dick’s trust when he was already unconscious. 

Trying to think like an O, (How do Os think?) that’s pretty good courting, isn’t it? And as Alphas go, Dick’s been chased by Jason. He knows the stamina and speed the guy is capable of. The patience he'd shown waiting outside The Sanctuary, and the good nature he’d displayed at failing to capture Dick… Maybe he’s really telling the truth? In that case, the two of them really are more alike than Dick would like to admit. Dick too, preys upon the hopeless. He has them paying for help to get their applications approved, sometimes with their last savings. Dick justifies that with his ability to fool the system, guaranteeing that they get legal paperwork that will ultimately help them. But in reality, he gets money from them because they’re out of options. He can’t agree with Jason that slavery is better than starving or freezing to death while retaining freedom. But he _can_ see how one would come to that conclusion with the experiences Jason claims to have.

He tries to see it from Jason’s point of view. Jason must be lonely, surrounded by people that will never understand him. Just like Aiden constantly fails to grasp the ramifications of Dick’s past. Antoine understood Dick, and that’s what ultimately made them work so well. It wouldn’t be a stretch of the imagination to think Jason would want that too.

Dick’s quiet too long so Jason starts deep-purring and stands up.

Dick scrambles off the chair and backs halfway through the room towards the door before he stops.

Jason hasn’t even passed the table yet. He stopped moving the moment Dick fled, and is holding up his hands in surrender, licking his lips, deep-purring still.

Dick remains frozen, uncertain of what to do.

After a few drawn-out seconds, Jason starts moving again. He’s got a pleasantly low deep-purr that tickles something inside of Dick. Dick tries to wrap his mind around what this all means. It definitely means that if Marlon hadn’t been strange the way he is, his friends would have known what he was ages ago instead of thinking Dick too is an exception to the rules. ...Aiden knew. Aiden knows, but hasn’t told anyone.

An ember of anger flares in Dick’s chest. He lets Jason approach. Jason purrs against his temple, making him shiver involuntarily. Jason caresses with his lips down to behind Dick's ear. There, he licks the gland. "Feels good, doesn't it?" he husks. It does. Strange, that this feels good when he just wanted Laurent to stop. Timing matters. Dick would love for Laurent to do this again, knowing what he now knows. "To a Juvie, it brings an acute sense of disgust. But to us?" Jason closes his lips around the gland and works it with a clever tongue. Dick gasps and grabs him by the arms to encourage him to go on. "It can feel bad for us too," Jason says, "but it only takes a little bit of attraction for it not to. And if you'll turn around and let me pull down this high collar of yours, I'll show you what drives both Alphas and Omegas wild."

'Pull down…' Laurent had wanted to pull something down when they had the talk. If Dick hadn't been so panicky… Or if it hadn't been pitch dark when Antoine massaged Dick… Or if Aiden would have _told anyone_. Told Dick, for instance.

Jason steps around behind Dick's back and pulls down the blanket and Dick's collar far enough to reach the gland. He leans in and caresses the area with the tip of his nose before he licks the gland. As usual, it causes a jolt of pleasure. Jason pauses to chuckle. “It’s funny how no scent is needed to make this the best thing in the world,” he says before he starts sucking on and milking the gland with his teeth. Dick gasps, then lets out a keen of pleasure. Jason grabs Dick's wrist and pulls it back, pressing Dick's hand against his crotch. "Feel that, Dick? This is what you do to me," he husks against the shell of Dick's ear.

Dick feels the outline of a sizable erection. It's thrilling to touch another man's cock like this. Dick's mind ignites, switching track to attach itself to the train Jason's already riding. He can feel himself get hard. A pair of fangs is pressed to the skin above the gland at the knob of his spine, fanning the fire. Jason lets go of Dick's hand to instead reach for Dick's growing erection. First pawing it outside of the pants, then unbuttoning the pants to grip it firmly, skin to skin, and stroke. At the same time, he starts sucking on Dick's gland again.

Dick keens, bucks, arches his back to press his ass against Jason's erection. Jason lets out a breathless chuckle, pulls up the edge of the blanket to shove down Dick's pants, and strokes a hand over his ass down to his hole. "Oh, you're so wet for me. You're leaking so much slick," he says. A finger breaches Dick's hole and _it feels good!_

It’s somehow shocking. Dick's tried that on himself once. He was curious about what sex would feel like. It was dry and painful, not like this. And to think, all this time he'd thought he'd peed himself. He wants more. _Needs_ more. "Fill me. _Fill me!_ " he demands, now eager to know what it feels like.

Jason lets out another chuckle followed by an impatient grunt while fumbling with his pants. The finger disappears only to be followed by something much larger and smoother, pushing in slowly, opening him up. It's nearly painful, but in the same way as a loving bite from a friend, that's just a tad bit too hard. “Tell me if I need to pull out and prep you with my fingers,” Jason says, voice strained. “My girth…”

Dick growls a ‘ _don’t you dare!_ ’

Jason laughs with a touch of hysteria. “Shit, I take back what I said about doing you a disservice. You take me like a damn champ.” He slides in all the way with a sharp indrawn breath. “Ff _fff_ ―, you’re so deliciously wet and tight.”

“I thought it was the Sweet-sea sickness or a symptom of my scentlessness getting worse. I thought I was peeing myself,” Dick confesses with a strained voice.

Jason chuckles. “I’d laugh, but there are so many things people presume that I know, that I don’t. I’ve made a fool of myself more times than I can count. I taught myself to read, and my mentor taught me math before he died. Then I paid myself into college with forged papers. It gets awkward sometimes, but I manage.”

“Oh my. You really are like me,” Dick states in surprise. Then, after a beat, thinking what that might mean, he adds, “If you sell me out I’ll hunt you down and kill you.”

“Hah! If I sold you I’d have the Williamses, the Hales, and the Swifts hunting my ass. Probably the Rumsfeldts too if they got wind of the Williamses hunting Snatchers.”

“The Rumsfeldts are into kit slavery?”

“Hell no. Competing businesses. They get paid to store kits, remember? You okay if I start moving?”

“Please.” Dick’s more than okay with that. He's light headed but this is a great distraction from the ache of exhaustion in his bones, the faint burning in his side, the odd belly-ache and other discomforts in his body. “My friends think sex will cure me somehow.”

“Do they?” Jason asks, pulls out halfway and pushes back in with a gyrating motion that makes Dick gasp. “I wouldn’t bet money on it, so don’t get your hopes up. But it feels good, so maybe that’s what they mean? Like feeding your horse oats instead of hay, but to combat depression.”

Dick lets out a breathy laugh. “I suppose.” He doesn't know much about horses but he knows oats are richer in energy than hay.

“Wait. Let’s move toward the table so you have support while I fuck you. Doing it standing up like this is awkward.” Jason holds Dick around the waist and shuffles them towards the table. He seems unwilling to pull out to make the shuffle less ungainly, but it’s good because Dick would have roared at him if he tried.

“My friends told me Juvies bond more easily, so when I noticed I had a gland they didn’t, I presumed it was proof I was still a Juvie,” Dick confesses.

Jason sniggers. "That's hilarious, yet an oddly logical conclusion for someone who's been a loner for most of their life," he concludes. They reach the table. Jason grabs Dick's hips under the blanket, leans forward, and starts sucking on the gland at the same time as he starts thrusting.

Dick keens, brain disengaging any thoughts apart from YES! YES! YES! He braces himself against the table, purring and wailing from pleasure. His friends might be right. Even if sex doesn't cure him, this is both strenuous and a bonding activity, which are the two things he needs to survive.

The air is heavy with the scent of arousal. Jason keeps gritting out dirty talk between the milking of the gland. "You're so wet for me." "You take my big cock so well." "You like to feel my cock stretch you wide open?" and "Do you want me to fill you up with my big knot?" Dick's not really listening but anything that sounds like a question he answers with a breathless " _Yes, yes, yes!_ "

Then suddenly he's FILLED. 

There are no other words for it. It's like Jason's pushing every pleasure spot at once, stretching him more than he thought he could be stretched. Jason stills, gasping, but Dick's having none of it. He gyrates his hips, tugging Jason's knot. It hurts. This is what they mean when they say ‘locked together’, a concept Dick up until now hadn’t fully grasped since it’s more than just being stuck. It hurts in a way that takes pleasure-pain to a new dimension for Dick. While the knot is pushing buttons Dick didn’t know he had, (He’d thought getting knotted might feel good like taking a dump feels good. An idea that now feels laughable since the sensations are in no way related.) the painful pull on his rim, and extra pressure on the newly discovered feel-good-spots inside, send shocks up his spine with every move of his hips.

Jason wraps his arms around him under the blanket, damn well _howling_ into the skin on Dick’s neck, spasming and convulsing over and over and over.

Dick blanks out for a moment. He can see himself shooting white stripes of come over the tabletop but his mind is making white noise of euphoria. He finally gets why sex is such a big deal and why people so willingly do it with strangers. He’s currently feeling absurd amounts of affection for the Snatcher. He can’t even imagine how he’d feel doing this with someone he actually loves. No wonder Aiden's always rushing them towards this. Dick wishes he'd let Aiden be his first.

Suddenly his legs feel like jelly, he’s hit with a dizzy-spell and has to stop moving not to collapse.

Jason keeps spasming, pained whines escaping him with every spasm. It goes on forever while Dick tries to regain control of himself. It scares him how close he is to fainting. His heart’s beating fast and steady in his chest but his head’s spinning, thoughts muddy, and he’s got a sense of wrongness in his body. Eventually, he finds his strength again, becoming aware of the sound Jason’s making. “Are you crying or laughing, dear?” he asks breathlessly.

Jason’s sob-like sound turns into real laughter. “Almost both, to be honest. I’ve never been milked like that before. I didn’t know it was possible for a guy to have multiple orgasms.”

“I thought Alphas always have two or three?"

"Yeah but not consecutively. One barely abated before the next one hit. That was―" Jason cuts off with a strangled sound and spasms a few times again. Then he laughs, high pitched and suffering. “ _Fuck_ , I’m so over-sensitive right now. This is insane. That must have hurt you something awful. You _liked_ it?”

Dick huffs. “Very much so,” he admits. Even now, standing still, he likes how Jason fills him and pushes on his insides. He almost wishes Jason’s knot was bigger still.

“Wow. In that case, you’re gonna be very disappointed with a lot of Alphas in the future,” Jason chuckles, lets go of Dick, and pulls his hand from under the blanket Dick’s still wearing as a cape. “I wasn’t kidding about my big knot. _Holy smokes_ , Dick. I―” he cuts off with a hastily indrawn breath and his scent rapidly changes from heavy arousal and sparkly joy to strong fear then neutrality, at the same time the knot diminishes in seconds. Dick can hear Jason swallow, then carefully say, “Um, keep calm now, okay? You’re hurt. I didn’t notice it when I put the blanket on you.” Dick turns his head to see Jason stand with his hand close to his body, looking at it. It’s covered with blood. He raises his head to meet Dick’s gaze, eyes concerned. “Just keep calm for me, okay?” he bids, then lifts the blanket and Dick’s shirt to look at Dick’s midriff. “This isn’t good,” he mumbles before looking up again. “We’ll fix this. I’ve got a first aid kit in my bedroom. Just stay calm and wait here while I get it, okay, Dick?” he says before pulling out. He goes to the bedroom with a reassuring smile to Dick, but it doesn’t reach his worried eyes.

Left alone, Dick lifts the blanket and his shirt to look. It’s the spot that feels like it’s burning. There’s a lot of blood. _A lot._ The thick, dark blanket had hidden it from view. He touches it gingerly. It’s a neat cut, no more than an inch wide. About the width of a knife blade. ...Burning sensation and strange, bloated belly ache… He’d been stabbed. He lifts his bloody hand to sniff his fingers. Nothing. Not a trace of smell. This is the kind of serious injury he’s always been able to smell. He knew he was close to dying, but, somehow, it fully hits home now that he can’t even smell his life-blood leaving him.

Rage boils in his veins. He can hear Jason talking calmingly and rummaging in the adjacent room, but he’s too angry to listen. There’s nothing Jason can do about an injury like this anyway and they both know it. He’s pretty certain Jason will go through with the charade. Sew it shut, say something like, ‘There. Good as new,” then bid Dick rest for a while, knowing full well Dick won’t wake up. It’d be a kindness, but Dick’s far too angry to accept that.

When Jason comes back into the room, Dick’s no longer there…

* * *


	19. The Accused

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick's certain he's about to die and he is _pissed_. Like a homing bird, he heads for the one person he's holding responsible for his peril, wanting to lay his accusations in the open before he dies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today my dog turned twelve. :D He's a good boy. <3

* * *

His heart beats furiously. He can’t say how he managed to run all the way here with his hand pressed against the wound to try to stave off the bleeding, or how he faked a patient and polite smile at the receptionist while showing her Aiden’s letter. His sight continuously threatens to creep into pinpricks, his head spins and he’s nauseous, cold and sweaty. He wants to throw up. He wants to find a dry corner somewhere and lie down to rest for a while. He knows that when his mind says “for a while” it’s lying to him. When he lies down he’ll never move again and he knows it. Betrayed anger is all that keeps him upright. This will be the last thing he does in life. It’s over. It’s over. It’s over.

He steps out of the elevator on the top floor. “Aiden, you sadistic son of a bitch, where are you?!” he shouts, walking along the freshest scent trail in the corridor. “ _ **AIDEN!!!**_ ” he calls out again when Aiden doesn’t immediately materialize.

He can hear doors open behind him, but more importantly, Aiden steps out of an office a few doors ahead. At first, Dick catches a burst of happiness in Aiden’s scent, then anxiety when Dick’s expression registers. “Dick! Are you alright?”

“No! I’m not alright. And it’s your fault!” Dick accuses. “What am I to you, Aid? Some fun kind of experiment? You curious to find out how long it takes for someone scentless to die? Is that it? How long have you known, Aid? _How long?_ ”

Aiden takes half a step back, looking confused and reeking of anxiety. “What are you talking about, Dick?”

"You know I'm an O!"

"Well, yes, of course?" Aiden answers, confusion mounting.

"Since when?" 

"Since we met," Aiden answers easily, eyebrows raised with a lack of understanding.

" _How?!_ " Dick demands. He keeps his distance lest he be tempted to attack.

"You gave me that look that Os give me. After we'd established that you defended Mar and I no longer posed a threat, then you looked at me like you wanted me."

"You presumptuous piece of shit. I was faking the body language of a Conservative O because people are less inclined to be violent when I do."

Aiden's getting angry. "Heck no. You weren't faking. Your pupils almost drowned out your irises and your nostrils kept flaring. Don't think for a minute that I don’t know the difference between sexual attraction and politeness. People have wanted to get in my pants long before I presented. I _know_ the signs.” He gestures haphazardly with a hand. “Then you said you were a Juvie and it threw me for a loop. I didn’t believe you, so I thought, the heck with it, and intercepted you when you went to the bathroom. There, you confirmed to me that you’re an O. Then, when I carried you home, you were in Heat.”

Aiden had known from day one. Dick doesn’t want to believe it. That makes the betrayal worse. “And all this time, it never occurred to you to tell someone? To tell _me_?!”

Aiden frowns. “What do you mean? I’ve told you lots of times that I know your secret.”

“When? When have you told me?” Dick demands.

“For starters, about every time I've carried you home."

"Oh, oh, oh, that's great! You told me when I was in such an inebriated state I'd only have a 50% chance of getting the answer right if you asked me my name! Brilliant idea! And why the hell haven't you told anyone else? After they took Antoine back, everyone in the rat pack offered to sleep with me and _you_ told them I was a Juvie. That’s _after_ Antoine explained to everyone that I would need to have sex to survive after I presented. You _want_ me dead!”

Aiden sputters, face turning red in anger and eyes flaring crimson. “I said _self-proclaimed_ Juvie! You’re being preposterous! If you wanted them to know, you could have told them yourself.”

“It never occurred to you that I didn’t know?”

“Sure, it did. At first. But with everything that’s happened between us, you couldn’t have been oblivious. _Athena_ , you don’t actually believe I’d touch a Juvie the way I’ve touched you?” The stinging scent of Aiden’s anger gets stronger. “And you said that when you’re on campus it isn’t a secret that you’re an O.”

Dick rolls his eyes then pulls his upper lip up to show his fangs threateningly. “Knuckles said that if I fake being presented I could enroll at college and no one would know better. So when your housemates presumed I’m an O, I rolled with it. I had no damn clue they were right!”

“What do you mean, you didn’t know?! It was so damn obvious you literally can’t _not_ know!” 

Dick growls. They’re shouting at each other and he’s aware there are other people in the corridor but he pays them no mind. His vision simmers, and over and over threatens to shrink into pinpricks. He’s using his last energy on this fight, barely feeling the icy slush melt, soak through the blanket-cape and run down his neck inside his shirt. “Obvious _to you_ , with your fancy-pansy parents and pack members and teachers falling over themselves to explain things to you. But me? I had Antoine, you guys, and newspapers. And guess what? If you want to know what happens to the body when you present as a male O, you can’t just take a newspaper and _read all about it_! All I knew about male Os was that they could get pregnant and they smelled like Os. But in case you didn’t notice, _I don’t have a scent!_ As for what you would or wouldn’t do to a Juvie, I don’t give a shit. I was willing and that’s all that mattered to me. If you knew I was an O, there was no reason for you to lie when Antoine saw you kiss me. You had every incentive not to. Yet you did. Just like you stopped me from taking my pack to join the Talons, and just like you didn’t tell our rat pack I was an O. All those things could have saved me. The only reason for your actions I can see, is that you want to see me dead!”

“No! That’s unfair and untrue! I kept it secret because I was convinced you wanted it to be a secret! Someone gives me a secret and I’ll keep it until my dying breath. And I don’t want you to die! That’s delusional talk! I’ve offered to let you siphon me so many times―”

“ _WHAT DOES THAT MEAN???_ I’ve told you before, I have no idea what you’re talking about! What’s siphoning??”

Aiden’s eyes widen with horror and sudden realization, anger traded for distress in his scent. “Yuh― You weren’t just playing coy? _Jinkies_ , Dick, we need to fix this pronto,” he says and takes a few rushed steps in Dick’s direction, reaching for Dick.

Dick flares and roars a threat, teething all his teeth. His flare’s so strong the red reflects around him despite the lamplight. Aiden freezes, mouth falling open gobsmacked, eyes wide. “It’s too late to fix anything, Aid. Your actions killed me. I couldn’t even smell this,” Dick says and drops the blanket, pulling up his shirt to reveal the stabwound. His clothes are already soaked in so much blood that showing the wound is redundant. “I’m dead. I’m already dead, _and it’s your fault!_ ”

Aiden starts making a pack distress call, paling in shock, while at the same time clucking pathetically in a way Dick’s only heard Alphas do to mates with wanderlust, a Primal ‘ _please don’t leave me_ ’-plea. Once again he takes a step towards Dick, hand outstretched. Dick roars another threat of murder. Aiden stops, gaze flicking behind Dick, his clucking shifting into a distressed ‘ _don’t hurt him_ ’ sound.

Dick turns around in time to see Marlon right behind him, lowering a knife, flaring a perfect golden color, a serious look on his face. “Mar! You came back!” Dick exclaims and throws his arms around Marlon’s neck in a hug that Mar barely has time to reciprocate with one arm before Dick remembers he’s mad and shoves him away. “You promised me you wouldn’t let me die, Mar! You _promised_! Did you know?” he asks the bewildered Alpha in front of him. He doesn’t wait for an answer before looking over his shoulder at Aiden. “Did you tell him?”

“I’ve told no one. Mar doesn’t know,” Aiden says, back to making the pitiful clucking noise that makes Dick want to comfort him. Dick hates him for making Dick want to comfort him even now when Dick’s dying from his betrayal.

Dick looks back at Mar. “You said my parents were outliers. You said no parent in their right mind would abandon their kits, then you went and left Anna like it was _nothing_. You know what it did to me when you left? I lost my damn Heats! I could have recovered from Antoine’s death if it wasn’t for you. You know the funniest part? I thought I was getting better, since I no longer got fevers. It’s your fault, Mar. You and that damn brother of yours killed me!”

Mar hushes softly. “Calm down, baby. None of us mean you harm. You need to calm down. We’ll help you, babe. Just keep calm for me. I’ll―” he says and slowly reaches for Dick. 

Dick roars and backs away until he hits the wall. Jason had wanted him to keep calm too, only so he could soothe Dick while he died. Dick doesn’t want to die calm, he’ll die angry or not at all. From Aiden’s side, someone’s purring comfortingly but it isn’t Aiden. Dick looks there and has to blink furiously. He’s overheated and freezing, sweating, his vision blurring. He's out of breath. He sees two Aidens in different clothes, one coming towards him. He can’t get his eyes to focus but he knows he’s seeing two Aidens because of the red glow of their eyes and the blond hair. He feels like he’s going to throw up. Mar grabs his arm. Dick tries to jerk himself free with a growl but his legs are suddenly jelly and won’t hold him up. Mar catches him when his knees buckle. Dick’s heart’s working overtime, his own pulse the only thing he can hear before his vision blurs and shrinks. Then everything goes dark.

* * *

He’s in the middle of vast darkness. It’s not black. More like the grey you see behind your eyelids when you close them. He can’t open his eyes. He realizes he doesn’t have a body and starts to panic. He tries to look around for it which is hard when he sees in all directions at once with no eyes, aware only of a conforming dark grey. Then suddenly he has a body. His familiar boots and his favorite pair of pants and shirt. He smooths a hand over the fabric covering his chest just to see if he can feel. He can. He’s comfortably warm and the shirt is soft. When he looks down there's nothing under his feet. The moment he starts to panic an uneven ring of familiar cobblestone spreads out under him. It's the dark grey and reddish stone from his favourite part of the docks.

He's not sure where he is or who he is, but he starts to feel calm and accepting of it. Whatever this place is, it's taking care of him. He looks around at the nothingness. The cobbles barely reach five feet around him. He takes a hesitant step. The cobbles spread ahead of him. Bolstered, he starts walking. He tries to figure out why. He's supposed to find someone? Yes, he’s looking for someone important.

In the distance he spots someone looking at a full-bodied mirror image. As he gets closer, he realizes it's not a mirror. It's Antoine and Martijn. Antoine stands mostly with his back turned and Martijn stares at his twin with cold rage. Martijn starts to pace from side to side like a tiger in a cage, as if there's an invisible wall preventing him from reaching Antoine. There’s some sort of lumps right by Antoine’s feet. Then one of those lumps unfolds, looks in Dick’s direction and meows. 

Dick remembers. He remembers who he is, who Antoine is, and remembers raising the cats seated by Antoine’s feet. Antoine turns around. He’s holding the mama-cat in his arms and smiles brightly when he sees Dick. He’s got his beard back. Martijn roars without a sound and fades into nothing as Antoine starts walking towards Dick. Cobbled ground spreads out like a plaza around him until it connects with the ground under Dick’s feet. Antoine had seemed so far away but now he’s much closer all of a sudden, though he barely walked at all. He opens his arms to let the cat jump down, then spreads them for a welcoming hug while the three cats come trotting to meow and rub themselves against Dick’s legs in greeting. A few more steps and Dick’s engulfed in Antoine's embrace, nose pressed to his chest inhaling his warmth and scent. He smells happy. 

“Hey, Dicky… I wasn’t expecting you so soon,” Antoine mumbles into his hair.

Dick leans away to touch Antoine’s face. The beard disappears under his fingers. “No, no. You look handsome in it. It sets you apart from your brother,” Dick protests and suddenly the beard’s back and Antoine grins, eyes warm and soft. Dick looks down at the cats. “Where are the rest of them?”

“Still alive and kicking. These guys were waiting for me. Cats are strange. I didn’t know they pack bonded with humans but it seems they do. They come and go, but they’re waiting for you to come home. You’re early, though,” Antoine answers.

“Am I dead?” Dick asks, looking back up.

Antoine chuckles and hugs him tighter. “Not yet.” He nods at something behind Dick. Dick turns his head to see a pinprick of light in the distance that hadn’t been there a moment ago. “That’s the way back. They’re fighting very hard to hold it open for you.”

Dick looks back at Antoine, taking note of the relaxed muscles of his face and the brightness of his eyes and smile. “You seem happy.”

“I am. I’m at peace. You upset things around here. You’re not where you should be, and they don’t like that. But they’re powerless to stop it. So I’m here for now and I’m happy, and that’s your doing.”

“They?” Dick asks.

Antoine shrugs with a small smirk, not giving an indication as to who ‘they’ are.

“Can I stay here with you?”

Antoine lifts his hand to caress Dick’s cheek gently. “You can. I don’t think you should though. Dean would be devastated.”

“Who’s Dean?” Dick asks. As soon as the question’s asked, he knows Dean is his Main. They haven’t met yet, and Dick knows nothing about who he is or what he looks like, but he remembers the sound of Dean’s soothing purr coming through a phone. He remembers care and respect, Dean setting aside his own happiness and longing to allow Dick the freedom of choice. He hurts for Dean, knowing that if he stays now, Dean will be the first to find him, lying dead in his bed in an apartment Dick’s never visited but lives in. It’s confusing and makes perfect sense. 

Somehow, Antoine knows. Antoine grins and leans close to whisper by his ear, “Right now you’re only juggling two realities. You stay here and you’ll have them all at the same time. It takes some time getting used to. Go back and come back later when it’s time.”

“Will you be here the next time I come?” Dick asks when Antoine rights himself so Dick can see him.

Antoine’s eyes go softer again. “That’s up to you. I’ll always be happy because of this. But if you want the changes to be permanent, it’s up to you. Remember me. Remember me, us, and Mal, and we’ll be here, waiting for you.”

Dick nods and looks over his shoulder again. The bright light has grown larger and the cats he lived with in the Arch have gone to sit on each side of it like gatekeepers beckoning him to go. He could stay. It wouldn’t be right, but they’d be happy to have him here. It’s not his time. Dean would be devastated. His mates too, whoever they are. His pack…

He gives Antoine a soft kiss on the lips then lets the growing light engulf him…

* * *

He starts to become aware. Familiar Alpha smells. Someone’s holding his hand, stroking hair off his forehead. Someone else snivels closeby. A soothing purr vibrates continuously. There’s an unfamiliar scent. It might be the most gorgeous Omega Dick’s ever smelt. She, or… he? He’s a Williams, but Dick loves him already. He’s found his Main. He’d follow this O to the world's end and back just to bask in his scent.

He pries his eyes open hoping to catch a glimpse of the strange, beautiful Omega. His eyes are dry and crusty, and the effort to get them open is almost too much. He blinks in the bright light of the dimly lit room. He’s in a bed. Everything in the room is pristine and white and smells clean and vinegary. Dick’s got tubes going into his arms, and several bottles hang on a stand feeding who knows what into him through those tubes. He’s in a hospital. That’s jarring. People from his world can’t afford this kind of care. 

Aiden sits curled up by a chair at the foot of the bed, legs thrown over one armrest, arms hugging his body, using the other armrest as a backrest. He’s the one snivelling. Dick can smell his exhaustion and distress from here. He’s pale, with dark bags under his eyes.

“There you are. Welcome back, baby,” someone coos gently from beside him. Aiden’s head whiplashes in Dick’s direction, and Dick shifts his gaze to the speaker. Marlon. Marlon smiles at him. “You had us worried there for a while. You’re quite a trooper.”

Dick wants to ask what happened and why he’s here, but his mouth is dry, and his throat only manages a confused gurgle. He’s so, so tired. He closes his eyes.

The next time he wakes up, someone’s using their hand to mark him up. Williams. It’s a Williams. At first he thinks it’s Aiden but there’s an unfamiliar note to the scent. He opens his eyes to find a very handsome, older Alpha standing over him, methodically rubbing his glands to smear the secretion on Dick’s face and neck. Blond, with graying hair at the temples, broad shoulders and chest, tall and compact. Red eyes. Dick nearly panics. “Oh dear. How long was I out, Aid?” he manages to croak. Soft snores stop somewhere in the room when he speaks.

The Alpha’s gaze jumps to Dick’s. He huffs a little snigger and smiles broadly, red flare winking out to reveal ice-blue eyes like Marlon’s instead of Aiden’s gorgeous hazel-green. “Good afternoon, Richard. Aiden’s sleeping in a chair by the foot of your bed. I’m happy to inform you you haven’t been unconscious long enough for him to age this much,” he says with a brief hand gesture towards his face. “My name is Jedikiah Williams. You’re welcome to call me Jed. You’ve been unconscious for almost three weeks, but have woken up a few times. Are you thirsty or hungry?”

Dick smacks his dry tongue against the roof of his mouth and manages a sound of agreement. Jed pours a glass of water from a pitcher on a metal tray beside the bed, then helps Dick sit up, supporting his back with one arm and gently tipping the glass so Dick can take small sips. It’s lukewarm and heavenly. With a few pauses, Dick manages to drink the whole glass. 

Jed carefully lowers him back onto the pillow. “I’m going to go see if I can find a doctor. I’ll be right back, Richard. You’re not alone,” he says then stands up. When he leaves the room Dick’s eyes are drawn to Aiden who’s still sitting in the same chair he was last time Dick woke up. He’s blinking at Dick tiredly, smelling of fatigue and aches. 

Marlon comes into the room within seconds of Jed leaving, smiling brightly at Dick as he goes to sit in the chair by Dick’s bedside. Dick’s fuzzy memories start to come back. He’s here because Aiden put him here. Marlon reaches for Dick’s hand. “Hey, baby. Jed said you’re finally lucid. I’m glad you pulled through.”

“I had to stay alive so I could break your nose for abandoning me and Anna, Mar. Don’t think I can forgive you so easily for up and leaving us for some O.” 

Marlon grins and gives Dick’s hand a little squeeze. “You’ll get your opportunity to do that some day when Marlon comes back, babe. My name’s Sean. We’ve met before, but you mistook me for Mar then too.” He flares and points at his eyes.

They smell the same. They smell _exactly_ the same. Jed, Aiden, and Mar are hard to tell apart scent-wise, but this Sean guy? _Exactly_ the same as Mar! He looks the same too. The hair’s darker, and now that he mentions it, Dick spots other differences. He’s older and slimmer. There’s no extra softness over his muscles. It should have been obvious, but Mar changes appearance like others change dirty underwear. “Mar isn’t back?”

“Not yet.”

Dick stares at the ceiling, trying to figure out how he feels about it. Why does it hurt? It hurts like Mar’s abandoned him all over again. He tries not to think about it. Sean purrs soothingly as if he knows how sad it makes Dick. “Who is she? Or he?” he asks instead.

“Who?” Sean asks.

“The Omega I can smell. I can smell he’s a Williams. I’ve never scented anyone that beautiful. I want him to be my Main. It feels like I’ve been looking for him or her all my life,” Dick explains.

Sean hiccups an almost-laugh, shares a gaze with Aiden then looks back at Dick. “That’s you.”

Dick frowns, uncomprehending.

“It’s you, Dick,” Aiden says, voice rough from disuse. “We had to force you to siphon or you wouldn’t have survived. Something I should have done ages ago if I’d only realised―” he cuts off and looks away, licking his lips in submission as if he’d spoken out of line.

“The only Omega you can smell in here is you. We managed to unlock your scent. Jed made you siphon him when you were unconscious. Siphoning is something we do to push scent straight into our body, you might say. We’ll show you how it’s done,” Sean explains.

“That can’t be right. The O I can smell is part of the Williams pack,” Dick refutes.

"Mhm. You bonded with extraordinary ease," Sean agrees. "But it turned out that we have the same blood type as you and when all three of us donated blood, me, Jed, and Aiden, it ended up cementing that bond. You’re one of us now.”

Dick lets that sink in. Sean with his stupid, handsome face and scent smells happy about it. It takes a moment to process. His brain isn’t quite up to par to figure out the whole siphoning thing, except it fixed his scent, and Aiden had offered to let him do it many times, so maybe he didn’t want Dick to die after all. The strangeness of knowing he has someone else’s blood in him hits him. He’d read an article about it in the news, years ago. How a scientist tried to figure out why blood transfusions sometimes killed patients and sometimes saved them. He’d discovered there were three types of blood, and that you needed a match for the safest outcome. The last article Dick’s read about blood transfusions was one about how prisoners of war were forced to donate, and another one about how they were trying to come up with a way to safely store blood, like in a bank, due to the war. All of that seemed so far removed at the time, like it would never concern him in any way. Now he apparently had the blood of three Alphas in his veins. 

A bitter thought about how his parents couldn’t even bother to share their secretion, but two complete strangers had offered their _blood_ , comes and goes. 

His mind flits restlessly, trying to make sense of it all. A Snatcher saved his life. He surely would have been dead if Jason hadn’t knocked him out and hid him from the angry mob. He’s certain of that. Technically, Jason had saved him that time he chased Dick into the Sanctuary too. It’s a convoluted way of thinking, kitnapping kits into slavery for their own safety, but the more he thinks about it, the more reasonable it sounds. When Dick was caught that time when he was a kit, he had been fed. Come to think of it, not all the kits in the room with him had seemed miserable, but Dick had been too devastated by his loss of freedom to consider any option besides a swift escape. Far too many orphaned kits starved or froze to death on the streets, silently cleaned up by the Pyre wagons in the bleak light of the predawn. By that measure, slavery would have been a salvation to some of them. He can see the logic even if his heart rebels with how wrong it is.

Though, somehow, it's reassuring to think there had been people out there keeping an eye on him with his survival in mind. Dick too has people he sees fairly regularly, passively tracking how they're doing without ever interacting. Several of those have died. He couldn't help them. Most of his life he'd been preoccupied by his own survival, then later, to make a better life for his pack-to-be. He'd considered himself too far down to help. But Jason had found a workaround. Not a good guy, but not one of the bad ones either. Dick can't find it in him to be ashamed he let Jason take his virginity.

His mind screeches to a halt. He can smell distress, then anger. It's himself he smells, which is a whole other deal to unpack. "No. No, no, no. I don't want that! How do I get rid of the bond? I don't want to be part of your pack when the rest of my pack isn't welcome," Dick protests and sits up, snatching his hand from Sean's and trying to pull the tubes stuck in his veins so he can get out of there.

Aiden clucks his pitiful _don’t-leave-me_ and makes the pack distress call. He doesn’t move, though, just looks at Dick with those sad, exhausted eyes. Sean is faster, grabbing Dick’s arms and pushing him down on the bed. Dick’s weak and defenseless against the iron force he applies. “Hey, hey, calm down, baby. We―”

Dick interrupts him by roaring, dropping fangs and flaring. He can smell the pain that comes from dropping fangs that fast and it annoys him not being able to hide his weaknesses. The door opens in a rush as Jed comes running. “What’s happening?”

Dick growls threateningly, promising murder, struggling feebly against Sean’s vice grip and tiring quickly. “He’s rebelling against our bond,” Sean says, purring soothingly to try to calm Dick.

Jed stands on the other side of the bed. He puts his hands on Dick’s shoulders to keep him down but applies very little force. His Patriarch-purr soothes and angers Dick in equal measures because he feels calmed by it but doesn’t want to. “Richard. Please tell me why you’re upset?” Jed asks with serious eyes.

“He won’t run with us unless Laurent and Malicia Hale do too,” Aiden answers tiredly, no longer looking at them. “I’ve offered him a place in our pack before, but he turned me down.”

“The drug-seller and the unstable girl?” Jed asks Aiden. Dick growls at the affront.

“Yes.”

Jed looks back down to meet Dick’s gaze. “We’ll get them for you. If you calm down and promise not to tear out your drip, Sean will find Laurent and Malicia for you and bring them here. We’ll offer them a place as part of our pack. If they say no, and you still want to leave, we’ll give you a soft fade once you’ve healed up and regained your strength. But we need you to keep calm and accept the bond for now, because it’s helping you heal.”

Dick stops struggling and glares at Jed. “Oh, so now Mal’s suddenly welcome? Then why did you reject her before? Mar asked you to make her a member, and I asked to make her a member. Why did you reject her?” he accuses.

“Because I told them to,” Aiden admits driftingly, looking out of the window. “It doesn’t matter now.”

It matters. Dick wants to know why. More importantly, he wants to know why it doesn’t matter now. “So why is Mal okay all of a sudden?” he asks with narrowed eyes.

“Because you’re not the only one who smelt the most beautiful O you’ve ever encountered when you caught your scent. We're just dumb Alphas trying to provide what you need in the hope of gaining your favor," Aiden answers, still refusing to look at Dick.

" _Aiden_ ," Jed reprimands. He looks back at Dick. "Scent attraction is only a tiny part of it. Last time the question was brought to the table it was Mar who asked. He was more rebellious than ever and in constant conflict with Sean, who is my Second. It didn't make for good timing. Aiden didn't outright tell us not to, but it stood clear that he didn't want us to take her in. Today it's different. Your bonding was accidental, but it doesn't change that you're part of our pack. So now I'm faced with a member showing acute wanderlust if she isn't joined to the pack. All this, and the fact that unbeknownst me, my pack has inadvertently caused you a lot of pain, and I'm willing to cut a lot of corners and bend a lot of rules to make it up to you."

The door opens again and an Omega in a white coat steps inside. "How's our patient doing?" she asks.

Dick growls at her and pulls up his lip to show his fangs.

"Incensed. I see. I suppose I would be too if someone had stabbed me," the doctor says dryly and scribbles in a notepad. She looks at the Alphas in the room. "I need to do an exam and he's awake now. You know what that means. _Shoo_."

Sean and Jed obediently leave after telling Dick they're right outside if he needs them. Aiden doesn't budge. "Is it alright if he stays?" the doctor asks Dick with a tired gesture to Aiden. "Your boyfriend hasn't left your side for many minutes since you were brought in. Removing him will require calling for security,” she says, sounding and looking like he’s proved that several times already and she’s sick of it. “I will, if that's what you want. Some Alphas think they can boss their partners around just because they're Alphas, but here we let the patients decide. Even Omegas."

Dick stares at Aiden to see the red-eyed Alpha lock gaze firmly and defiantly. Whatever Dick would say, Aid’s ready to fight to stay close. It’s almost funny how Aiden’s gone from a sad lump in a chair to coiled to strike.

“He can stay. No offense to you, dear, I’m sure you’re a wonderful person and a competent professional, but I’m having general trust issues. They include him, by all means, but he’s not a stranger. You are.”

“Very well. Would you like me to call for someone else to be present? Your Patriarch? Anyone in the family?” the doctor asks. Dick growls and shows his fangs in lieu of an answer. “I see your boyfriend and you are cut from the same cloth,” she states dryly. “Well then. Let’s start. I’m doctor Carlsén…” Doctor Carlsén goes on to introduce herself, ask Dick how he feels, then ask permission to poke and prod. She answers all of Dick’s questions about what he’s given through the tubes, how the blood transfusion was done, and, when she changes the dressing on the bandage on his side to reveal a much bigger scar than the small stab wound could have caused, she tells him about the surgery he had to fix the mess the knife had made inside of him.

The tubes going into him are removed, and he’s told he should start moving around, try to eat and go to the toilet on his own, and that they want to keep him there for a few days while monitoring him before he goes home. He gets instructions and restrictions on what he can and can’t do, then an Alpha nurse comes with a tray of food and the doctor leaves.

After he’s eaten there’s a knock on the door and Laurent uncertainly pokes his head in. He spots Aiden first, then his eyes land on Dick on the bed. His eyes widen and he throws himself at Dick with happy chirps. Mal is just half a step behind him. He hugs them, rubbing his temple against them affectionately. When he realizes he can smell his own secretion on them and that their strong friendship bond is reignited not only in his scent, but in theirs too, his heart grows ten sizes. A jubilant all-is-well purr starts vibrating in his chest unbidden.

“You’re alive! We thought you were dead. Nobody had seen you for weeks and Laurent said you’d been acting weird. We’ve been so worried,” Mal says and leans away to sit on the bedside, holding Dick’s hand in both of hers, frequently letting go with one to sniff it. Her eyes sparkle and her scent is joyous.

“I’m sorry, dear. I should have spoken up, but I’m afraid depression messed up my ability to make sound decisions. And I apologize for leading you on. I’m afraid I can’t mate you now. In my defense I had no idea I’d present as an Omega,” Dick says. 

“That doesn’t matter, monkey-brain,” Mal says with a laugh and punches him lightly on the shoulder. “The important thing is that you’re alright. And we’ve been asked to join the Williams pack. That means we can all live together.” She’s smiling so widely every ounce of her shines. Dick finds himself returning that smile in force. It’s this moment Dick knows he’s not going to try to break the pack bond to make a new pack. As long as she’s this happy, he’ll settle. He’s not very happy about having a Main he’s never met, but he’ll give it a shot.

Laurent’s been quiet for a while. He’s sitting on Dick’s other side, pressing Dick’s hand over his nose and inhaling deeply while looking at Dick with wide eyes flaring blue. Dick turns his head to look at him through his lashes wearing a small smirk, annoyed at the tendril of anxiety he can suddenly smell in his own scent. “So what do you think, dear? Is it the scent of an O you could consider mating?” he asks coyly.

Laurent hiccups a laugh, blinks tears out of his eyes and lowers Dick’s hand to grin at him with teethed canines. “ _Mercury_ , yes! I loved you already before, but you smell as good as Arvid does. I’m trying to not deep-purr you, because this isn’t the time and place, but a hundred times yes.”

Dick doesn’t miss the faint trace of anger coming from the chair by the wall in front of his bed. Aiden’s still sitting across the chair sideways, staring out of the window tiredly, but he didn’t like to hear that. The anger comes and goes too quickly to pay it any heed. Let him stew in jealousy if that’s what it is.

“But what happened to you?” Mal asks, drawing Dick’s attention.

“Oh, several things, dear. Unbeknownst to me, I presented. My health took a nosedive. My heart tried to stop every time I slept, but uppers would kickstart it or keep me going without sleep. But then Laurent worried about the amount of drugs I was doing and told me you wouldn’t pack bond with me or mate me if I got addicted. So I lied to him when he asked if I was using it for medicine.”

“Dicky, don’t you understand that it would make a difference? We could have figured out a solution together," Laurent says with a pained voice, still smelling unapologetically happy.

" _Now_ I do, dear. But aside from being hounded by dark, hopeless thoughts all my life, I was severely sleep-deprived at the time. Now I'm quite certain I'd presented when you tested me, but since you had told me you wouldn't pack bond with me, all I wanted was to flee. The goal to run in a pack with you is what I'd fixated on to hold onto life. I figured that if I could hold out for a month like you asked, you’d never have to know how poorly I was doing. I’m the one who’s supposed to take care of you.”

“That’s not how Packrunning works. We take care of each other,” Mal says sternly.

Dick chuckles. “Be that as it may, I wasn’t thinking clearly. Then I received a letter from Aiden, asking me to come talk to him. He’d figured out I was avoiding him since our last fight―”

“What were you fighting about? Aid didn’t tell us,” Laurent asks, throwing a look behind him at Aiden.

“I went to visit him, found him in bed with Keith, and threw a jealous tantrum out of proportions.”

“That’s not―” Aiden starts to say but cuts himself off and stares out of the window with a deep frown.

“It’s exactly what happened, dear. You might not get sweet on people, but I do. Keith’s a lovely O and he’s the only regular lover I’m aware of you having. I was jealous,” Dick says to Aiden. It’s not what he said when they were having the argument in question, but it’s the truth.

Mal sniggers. “It makes sense. You’ve practically been dating all summer. It’s funny. Did you know he was going to present as an O, Aid? One might almost think so, the way you’ve been courting him.”

Aiden looks at them with a hint of distress in his eyes that doesn’t translate to his scent and opens his mouth to answer.

“He couldn’t have,” Dick says, saving Aiden from incriminating himself. “Not even his fine nose would be able to pick that up. I think he’s just been sweet on me since the start, whatever he claims,” he smirks. “Either way, I read his letter and decided it was a good idea to talk to someone about my predicament. I wanted his input on the army’s offer as well.”

Aiden frowns in confusion.

Laurent grins. “I suspected you might be presented or close to it after we had our talk, but I couldn’t test you again without force. I kept coming to your home at night hoping to sleep by your side. I could look for your O-gland discreetly if we were both naked. Rub my nose against the spot to see if you secreted. But you were never home. So when you told us about the army’s offer I jumped at the idea because they do physical exams and they’d know without a doubt. With all your talents they’d no doubt invest the cost of any medical care you might need.”

“So that’s why you were so eager for us to join! You should have told me, dummy,” Mal laughs.

“Hey, it was a good offer regardless,” Laurent says, grinning at her.

“How did you know I was using it as medicine?” Dick asks Laurent. “After the talk you suddenly got distressed. I couldn’t figure out why.”

“It was in your eyes. You’ve always had a fire there, and it went out. Everything in you went, I don’t know, still? All I could see was sudden acceptance and it was like looking into a mirror from back when I thought my own death was imminent and inescapable, before Mar took me to get treatment.”

Dick hums thoughtfully. It’s how he’d felt. His friends know him well.

“What offer? What offer are you talking about?” Aiden wants to know, getting agitated.

“Dick ran the Omega Run at campus almost daily. He met two army recruiters there who wanted him as an officer,” Laurent explains.

“What? No, no, no, don’t do that. Why were you doing the Run? Why didn’t you come see me if you came there so often? Why―” Aiden falls quiet and looks away, licking his lips when Dick bares his fangs at him in a silent threat.

Instead of answering Aiden’s questions, Dick goes on to tell them what happened. “I went to campus to talk to Aid, but he wasn’t there, so I decided to go home for warmer clothes before I went to the Williams HQ to see him. It was a mistake.”

“What happened?” Mal prompts.

“Down by Grafton’s Crossing it was pouring down sleet. I was soaked and chilled to the bone. I pelted, and got surrounded by an angry mob accusing me of murdering innocents during our pack war with the Boltons. They surrounded me, but after a brief scuffle I got away and started running. They came after me. A man I got to know at the campus, Jason Foster, saw it all and pulled me into safety into his building. He gave me a thick, black blanket and food to warm up. We didn’t know it then, but in the scuffle, I’d been stabbed. The blanket hid the bleeding from us and since my blood didn’t have any scent, we didn’t discover it at once.”

“There’s a Foster in college?” Laurent asks and whistles, impressed.

“He wanted to become a Roman,” Dick offers. Of course, Jason would love to get rid of the Foster-stamp. Anyone would know he’s a street rat with that last name.

“Well, if he saved you, he’s got my vote,” Mal says, Laurent nodding along.

“He’s the one who told me I was an O. He’d seen me wash over a barrel recently and spotted my gland,” Dick says, adjusting the truth. “When we discovered I was hurt I went straight to HQ to ask the Williamses for help. I passed out shortly after I got there, woke up a few hours ago and the doctor tells me I’m going to be fine. I have to say, sleeping for three weeks has done me wonders.”

Aiden’s back to staring at him, lips slightly parted uncomprehendingly at Dick’s adjustments of events, polished to protect Aiden. He jerks when Mal twists around to glare at him. “Why didn’t you tell us where he was, turdface? We thought he was dead!” she accuses.

Aiden scowls. “I don’t care if you were worried, I wouldn’t leave his side for anything short of Mar returning in dire need of help, sweetcheeks. And he _was_ dead. For several minutes. I’ve been here making sure it didn’t happen again, so you can shove your worries where the sun doesn’t shine,” he argues. 

Dick purrs calmingly. “Please, could you conduct your arguments outside of my room or not at all? The only one allowed to argue with Aiden in here, is me,” he says with a small smirk.

They settle then, and go back to talking. They support him when he goes for a short walk back and forth in the corridor, and leave with a promise to be back. Dick’s exhausted. When he needs help to get to the toilet, Aiden helps him without a word spoken between them. Aiden retakes his place in the chair when Dick’s back in bed, and is there when he wakes up, in constant vigil.

* * *


	20. A Mateship of Convenience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sean comes to Dick, anxious, and nervous, and he has a huge favor to ask...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm finally well again! :D  
> Mom's getting better too but is struggling to shake the last sickness. :P  
> Oh, and from this point, we'll start seeing several chapters where Dick's presence alters the events of First Rule of Packrunning. :)
> 
> Currently, I'm on a roll, words pouring out. Of course, we'll go back to Dean too, but I have a few scenes in my head that I desperately need to get out while I have them fresh in mind.
> 
> I hope you're all well and thank you for all your comments. :) <3<3<3
> 
> A huge thank you to my betas, Lisa and Melina, for taking their time to help me. <3

* * *

Dick gets into the car beside Sean. “What’s this about?” he asks as they drive away. Sean smells agitated and nervous.

“I don’t know where to begin. I messed up big time and I need to ask you a major favor to fix it,” Sean says and throws a glance at him before looking back at the road. The first time they had sex they accidentally developed a mating bond. Same thing with Jed. It’s impossible to say why. The doctors theorized that the blood donations could be part of the reason, but weren’t sure, since blood donors often were family members, parents, siblings, or mates. Or they were strangers, prisoners of war, unlikely to sleep with the person they’d donated to. It’s hard to say whether it’s the blood, or if it’s Dick’s life-long scentlessness that’s made him more easily form bonds, or if it’s the insane scent attraction Dick feels for the Alphas related to Aiden that’s the culprit. But the result is that he now has three mates—Laurent, Jed, and Sean—two of which he’s barely begun to get to know. They’re getting there. Sean spends as much of his free time with Dick as he can, and Jed frequently courts him as if they weren't already mated.

“How major are we talking about exactly?” Dick probes.

“I need you to mate someone to ensure he gets to join the pack.”

Dick whistles on an inhale. “Oh dear. If we put aside that you already know how badly I’ve dealt with mating bonds to strangers, what makes you think this guy will be remotely attracted to me? I’m _not_ putting anyone's blood in my veins again unless I’m dying.”

Sean chuckles. “I wouldn’t worry about that. He was pressed to my throat deep-purring for twenty minutes before he let me leave. He wants you, alright. The real problem is that, all things considered, you might side with Jane and not want him in the pack.”

Dick snorts and looks out of the window. Mal and Laurent both adore their new Main, Jane. Dick, on the other hand, has trouble withholding a growl in her vicinity. “What do you think Sandra would say about bringing this man into the pack?”

“Honestly? I think she’d say yes.”

“In that case, I doubt I’d side with Jane.”

Sean sucks in a breath as if to speak, hesitates, then says, “Hey, babe, I’ve got to ask. Are you planning to challenge Jane for rank?”

“That would be abysmally stupid, wouldn’t you agree? I hardly know how to live in a pack. It certainly would be foolish for me to take leadership of one at this point.”

“Then why not let her cement your bond?” They’re nearing the bridge and the police cars parked there. Sean turns the car to drive up alongside them, stops and leans out of the window to greet one of the officers who gets out of his car to approach them. “Officer Oswald. How are the kits doing?” Sean asks with a smile, puts his hand in his pocket before reaching out the window to shake hands with the same hand he’d just had in his pocket. Dick sees the folded cash he’s hidden in his palm just before the police officer clasps the hand. It’s taken some time to get used to seeing how the Williamses discreetly pay the equivalent of three months’ rent just to get escorted over the bridge. They don't even have to. They pay the Police Chief and all the higher-ups, so if these cops don’t escort them, the cops get in trouble. These coppers won’t see any of the bribes paid to the higher-ups though, so Sean, Jed, and some of the others make sure to line the pockets of those beating the streets too.

Dick remains quiet, watching the brief, polite exchange. Officer Oswald goodnaturedly complains about his kits eating their own weight daily, growing like weeds, then ends with a smile and a small salute, “Mr. Williams, Mr. Roman,” he says and goes back to the car. Four police cars escort them when they start rolling again.

“Where were we?” Sean asks.

“You were wondering why I won’t let Jane cement my bond, dear.”

“Ah, yes. She’s a good Main, baby.”

“Tssk. I don’t doubt her prowess to run a household. But she’s too clueless about the real world to have any decision making power over how the pack acts in matters outside of the home.”

“She’s hardly clueless,” Sean disagrees.

“I beg to differ. Most of you are too privileged to have a clue about what’s really going on in this country. That’s especially true for those of you who haven’t been to war. The Conservatives have pulled the wool so far over Jane's eyes she might as well be one of them. It doesn’t help that she waves off my years of experience with the government as me having listened too much to Marlon’s conspiracy theories. Believe me, I knew what’s going on long before I met Mar. Yet she still trusts the government. One day, that’s going to cost you, _us_ , many lives if we let her make decisions. She should step down. She cared for the household before she became the Main, she can do it after too.”

Dick’s expecting Sean to argue, but Sean purses his lips with a troubled crease between his brows and stares at the road ahead. “A pack doesn’t need both leaders to be adept at all types of decision making, babe,” he says after three beats of silence. “Jed’s an accomplished businessman and knows how to handle politicians.”

Dick nods his head to the side in a half-agreement. “But he won’t be here, now will he? We’re all being drafted. That means the lion’s share of us will be off in Canada fighting, leaving her and the few others left behind very vulnerable to any wrong decision she makes during a time that would be perfect for a Conservative coup,” Dick counters. He might have trouble adjusting to _living_ with a large pack, but he has no trouble adjusting his way of thinking when it comes to his new vantage point, privilege-wise. All he has to do is imagine that he’s now looking out for a whole shipload of wealthy refugees, instead of dealing with a smaller unit of impoverished ones.

Sean’s deeply troubled. “If that’s your opinion, wait until you hear what your mate-to-be has to say. You won’t like it, but I believe him.”

Dick frowns, annoyance stinging in his scent. “I might be developing very strong feelings for you, Sean, but I’m not one of your underlings operating on a need-to-know basis. You come home reeking of worry, tell me you’ve messed up and you need me to fix it by mating someone. Do you really expect me to agree, no questions asked? My mating bonds to you and Jed are doing a number on me already, and you want me to take on another one without getting to know the guy, learning to love him first? There’s a huge difference, you know? I feel it. Mating Laurent was like the relief of sinking into a warm bath. I never feel the bond-compulsion at work because I love and trust him. With you and Jed I often feel my body and thoughts trying to make me act against my nature. It’s just started to ease up now that I’m falling in love with you, but I’ll never know if I’m falling due to the compulsion, or if it’s the organic reaction to getting to know you. So, if you want to force another bond on me, you’d better start talking,” Dick says snippily.

Both of them lift their hands to wave and smile in thanks when they’ve crossed the bridge and the cop cars stop to let them pass and go on unescorted. Dick knows they’ll remain on this side of the bridge for a couple of hours, ready to escort whatever privileged bastards need escorting back to the other side. They’ll leave around 8 PM, which is why the Williamses working at HQ leave together in several cars and bring firearms. They’re exempt from the strict firearm law, either because most of them are army officers or because of the money they shower on law enforcement and politicians. Most likely both. But it’s a fine line. They too can get in (mild) trouble if they walk around armed in the city.

“Alright. You know I was an intelligence officer,” Sean says.

“Mhm. Working undercover for years,” Dick agrees and reaches out to put his hand on Sean’s thigh, keeping it there. 

“I did, yes. I’ve also been training an operative, and I sent him on an undercover mission. The first problem is that the mission is unsanctioned. By the government, and definitely by the pack. If Jane found out she’d be furious. Jed won’t be happy either.”

Dick starts purring a content all-is-well since Sean’s talking. Secrets are the biggest issue between them. Dick’s hard-pressed to trust any Williams, pack bonds be damned, so any time they clam up about something that isn’t related to their own feelings, Dick mentally withdraws. “So you sent a spy on a mission of your own design for your own purposes?”

“More or less. They’d see it that way, I see it like the mission is of grave importance for pack and national security. I had my operator infiltrate the Conservative aristocracy,” Sean says. 

"I see. And from their distorted point of view, it'd look like you were provoking an ally." Dick hadn’t truly understood how closely the Williams pack worked with the Conservative elite until he spent a few days at HQ, trying to grasp what they did there.

"Exactly. So this operative has only had contact with me. He's been living with a powerful Aristocrat. As his handler, it was my duty to make sure he could be extracted safely. But my undercover experience was with Progs that can barely form bonds, so I forgot that Conservatives can. And I didn't consider how a lone individual can have the hormones of a Main or Patriarch even if they’re Conservative. Basically, what I did was to send him to live with a Patriarch for a year, with the orders to pretend to be lower ranking."

"So he came back pack-bonded and we need to snipe him."

"That's it. And if we don't, he'll doubtlessly take several pack members from us and return to the Aristocrat. That would be catastrophic, especially since he tells us that the coup you're talking about is well underway."

Dick sighs. "Very well, dear. I'll do it."

Sean smells relieved. "Thank you, babe. It means a lot to me."

Dick hums and gives Sean’s thigh a squeeze.

“While we’re talking, can I ask what made you change your opinion about Clara?” Sean asks after a couple of blocks driving in silence.

“I haven’t. She’s a wonderful person and I’ve liked her since the first meeting, dear.”

“Really? She’s been moping about you not liking her and last week she came bouncing down the stairs overjoyed that you _do_ like her. So something has changed.”

Dick smirks. Clara has clearly imprinted on her absentee brother. Clara’s hair, eye makeup, clothes, and jewelry all were reminiscent of Mar. Her curiosity, bravery, stubbornness, and drive to lead also reminded Dick of Marlon. Though, Clara is an optimist with a much more even temper than Mar ever had. She’d come to Dick’s room one day, holding out an extraordinary creation of hers on a velvet pillow. A broad choker necklace that was done in an elaborate lace pattern made out of small, red gemstones. Nothing Dick would wear, but he recognized the skill and time it must have taken to make it. His street-kit paranoid first reaction was to hide it in the wall somewhere due to its value. He hadn’t, but he’d wanted to. Clara’s intention with the gift was to make him give her a chance to show that he should like her. He’d explained to her why he sometimes appeared hostile, even though he found her a delightful acquaintance. 

“Not at all, dear,” Dick answers Sean. “My own feelings have nothing to do with my infrequent hostility towards her, which I told her. What I’m trying to guard against is the developing chemistry she has with Laurent. She’s in the process of presenting. He hasn’t been a member long enough for the aversion to work on him once she presents. I’m trying to prevent the two of them from falling in love, since either he’d have to leave with her when she wanders, or she’d have to stay. And I’ve already seen the emotional toll it takes on Mal and Laurent to resist each other. The two of them have a normal sex drive, while several of you Williams Alphas display an above-average libido. I assess the risk of inbreeding to be astronomical if she doesn’t wander and remains unchaperoned in the vicinity of Williams Alphas after the aversion period.”

“Huh. That’s sensible. You explained this to Clara?” Sean asks and takes his eyes off the road to look at Dick for a moment.

“I did. It appeared to make her happy and she promised not to get too attached to Laurent. She’s as generous with her affection as Mar, so we ended up talking all night. Where are we going?”

“To the campus. He’s with Aiden.”

"Aiden?"

"Yes.” Sean’s expression is pinched for a beat. “Aiden can keep secrets like no other. You know that. And he's loyal to a fault."

Dick rolls his eyes. "Stow your propaganda, dear. You do realize that the reason we're not on speaking terms has very little to do with me, don't you?"

Sean throws Dick another quick look. "What do you mean?"

"He doesn’t speak to me unless someone else is around. He barely even looks me in the eyes without a chaperone. At the hospital, he never left my side, but he didn't talk to me, then he went back to college and proceeded to avoid me. I can, and mostly have, forgiven him for the misunderstandings. I recognize what happened to me wasn’t his fault. But I'm angry at him for avoiding me. He courted me regularly for a full summer and then made himself scarce when it was time to cash in on his hard work. The rejection stings, dear. He stopped courting me the moment he could smell me."

"Knowing him, he took your accusations to heart no matter how wrong they were. He feels guilty for misunderstanding you and the danger that caused you. Believe me when I say your scent has nothing to do with it,” Sean reassures.

“Whatever you say, dear,” Dick says and pats Sean’s thigh condescendingly, not believing Sean even a little bit. It doesn’t matter. Aiden’s at college and Dick’s been busy coming to terms with his new life, plowing through Clara’s old school books, being taught to handle firearms (which all Williamses, domestic or not, have to know), getting to know the people he lives with, acquiring a new wardrobe, bonding and having a sexual awakening. In short, he’s been busy, and his and Aiden’s complicated relationship might benefit from a cooldown.

* * *

Today when he walks through the Alpha House, several Alphas deep-purr when they catch a whiff of him. He smells like power, and they react to that. Aside from Aiden, the only other Alphas here who he’d accept showing interest in him, are those that did so when he was still scentless - Nikita, Jaeger Talon, and Rumsfeldt. He doesn’t return Rumsfeldt’s interest, but he accepts it. They’re not here right now and Dick’s content when the other Alphas fall quiet as he growls his rejection.

Aiden’s climbed the proverbial ladder and has a new, large room on the top floor. He no longer shares the room with anyone, and Dick thinks it’s strange that he can’t smell anyone but Aiden and Sean’s trail leading into Aiden’s room. Sean walks behind him but stops when they near the door. Dick turns his head and raises an eyebrow, but Sean just motions for Dick to continue inside.

Dick opens the door, steps inside, and his pulse skyrockets. He barely makes note of Sean coming inside after him, closing the door.

There’s an officer in full regalia standing with his back turned, facing the bed where Aiden’s sitting.

Dick _recognizes_ him. Not the short, neat haircut, or the impeccable, aristocratic posture, but the body, and the scent, so similar to Sean’s he can’t tell them apart. When Marlon turns around Dick’s breath lodges in his throat. No man has ever looked so handsome.

Dick’s learned a lot about his own preferences since he moved in with the Williamses. When Jed meets with powerful and influential people, he dresses in a fitted three-piece suit and bedecks himself with expensive but ‘acceptable’ accessories like watches and rings. He looks dashing by all means, but Sean dons his military officer regalia for the same occasions. It has Dick swooning every time. The combat uniforms have a similar effect to a lesser extent when worn by people he’s already attracted to. 

Sean’s straight-backed, sharp, vigilant and hard. He's like a sword, efficient in every fiber. Conservative aristocrats are also straight-backed, but their posture conveys grace rather than efficiency, first and foremost. Dick prefers that. Maybe because of his parents’ bias, or maybe because he himself mimicked the body language of Conservative Omegas for so long. Dick's not sure he even cares why he likes it so much, but Marlon's adopted the aristocratic way of moving. 

It's doing a real number on Dick.

Marlon sucks in a surprised breath when he sees Dick, takes a deep breath through his nostrils, flares his gorgeous lilac, and starts deep-purring.

Dick’s stunned for several seconds. Long enough for Marlon to approach with a poised glide, looking every inch an aristocratic officer. Dick’s instinct is to bend his neck coquettishly, smirk, and look at Mar through his lashes, belly full of excited and anticipatory butterflies. No, Dick’s instinct is to turn around and _present_.

But Marlon abandoned Dick and Anna. Deep down Dick’s still furious about it. It’s buried so deep he has to remind himself he’s angry or he’d throw himself around Mar’s neck and cling in joy at being reunited. He can smell his own happiness, smell the anxiety caused by the nervous butterflies in his belly.

His mixed emotions hide the underlying anger from anyone but Aiden, so Dick balls his fist, and manages to take Marlon by surprise when he throws a punch as soon as Mar’s within reach. Mar pulls his head away and rolls with the punch enough to stave off some of the force of the blow. Dick hits the nose hard enough to cause a nosebleed, but not to break it. Mar starts turning his head back towards Dick with a confused “ _Mrr―?_ ” He doesn’t get out the full sound before Dick’s other punch takes him on the temple.

Marlon crumples like a felled tree. 

Knuckles would be so proud.

Unfortunately, Dick’s hand’s screaming in pain so he doesn’t get to stand around feeling smug about it. He cradles his hand, gritting out “ _Fuck, fuck, fuck!_ ” (Sean’s a bad linguistic influence.) while Aiden throws himself from the bed towards Mar.

Mar tries to get to all fours but tips over again and roll onto his back, holding his head.

Dick grimaces, shaking his hand trying to make the pain go away. “Well. That explains why you didn’t tell me the name of the operative lest I demand you turn the car around,” he says snippily to Sean, then turns to Aiden crouching by his brother’s side. “And I take back the apology I made for putting the blame on your shoulders for the emotional hit I took from Mar’s disappearance. You knew what he was doing, didn’t you?”

Aiden helps Mar sit up. “I was sworn to secrecy, Dick. I wanted to, but you know I couldn’t tell you what he was doing. I _did_ tell you he was coming back, though.”

Dick takes a few steps towards them and crouches down, putting his uninjured hand on Marlon's knee while looking at Aiden. "You did. In the same way Laurent did. It sounded like blind faith and denial to me. We can argue about what you could have said to assure me of his return, but frankly, I'm tired of arguing with you about things we can't change." Dick looks at Mar, who's blinking groggily at him with a dopey smile that reveals his double set of fangs. "You and I have a bone to pick, but it'll have to wait for now. I've been asked to mate you. It's a mateship of convenience to ensure that the pack will take you back, so we'll skip over the courtship. But if you'd like to remain my mate for longer than it takes us to get your pack bond cemented, I expect you to earn it."

Marlon chirps, trills, and purrs a declaration of love, then starts deep-purring again. He looks lovestruck, hair disarrayed from the fall, blood running from his nose down to his upper lip to color his perfect teeth, still unable to sit without Aiden's support after the knockout.

Inside of Dick, there's a jubilant shout of ' _He came back! He came back! He came back!_ ' and now Dick gives into it, pushing forward wrapping his arms around Mar, burrowing his nose in the crook of Marlon's neck. He smells so gorgeous. The base scent is exactly the same as Sean’s (even if Aiden claims that’s not remotely true) but the pack bond is missing, replaced with one, singular friendship bond to a handsome Alpha. Dick wants to learn how to differentiate between a pack bond and a friendship bond, like the bouncer Joe can do. Supposedly, anyone that isn’t noseblind could learn to do it. But with everything he’s got crammed into his busy schedule, that’s been put on the backburner.

Dick rubs himself affectionately against Mar, marking him up. A tense knot between his shoulders he hadn’t been aware of finally relaxes when Mar holds him tight and responds in kind. “I’ve missed you, dear. I bought the lie that you abandoned us, abandoned your own kit, to go chasing after an O. I was so devastated and angry,” Dick mumbles, lips stroking Marlon’s neck, Marlon’s deep-purr sinking into his bones like a pleasant caress.

“If that were true, I’d be the biggest fool of them all,” Marlon answers, cupping Dick’s cheek with one hand and leaning their foreheads together. “It was my belief that I could offer Anna the best protection by investigating the plans of those who pose the greatest danger to her future. Not a day went by when my heart didn’t beat with the sound of my daughter’s name. When Coombs bid me stay, only she provided me with the strength to tear myself away from him. Then I came home to find Sean mated to the most beautiful O I’d ever smelt, worthy of traveling cross country for.” His lips hook up playfully in the corners, lilac eyes warm and full of emotion, scent overjoyed. “They didn’t tell me it was you.”

Dick smiles, heat creeping up his throat and cheek, heart beating fast in excitement. “Oh, shush,” he says coyly and puts a hand on Mar’s chest. “And by that, I mean, do go on, dear,” he jokes. More curiously, he goes on, “They didn’t tell you it was me? Sean didn’t tell me who he wanted me to mate either. He feared I’d be too irate to say yes. A valid fear, I'm afraid, with how hurt I felt by your disappearance.”

“My sincere apologies, Richard. I love you, I’ll lay down the world for a chance to make it up to you,” Mar says, thumb caressing Dick’s cheekbone. “I’ll spend my life doing penance, bringing you joy, fulfillment, and serenity.” Aiden makes a gagging noise and Sean fails to withhold a snigger, muttering ‘Smooth,’ under his breath.

The way Mar talks is different. He always had a penchant for using the diction of educated people, but he was also very influenced by his slum-dwelling friends’ way of speaking. This more poetic speech bears the hallmark of the southern aristocracy and old money Conservatives. Dick can’t say he minds. Dick turns his head to look at Sean who’s leaning against the door, looking at them with amusement. “Why didn’t you tell him it was me?”

Sean shrugs. “Curiosity at how he would react, I suppose? We were discussing which O in the pack would agree to mateship. As you know, Mar’s tricky when it comes both to romance and sex. The answer was pretty straightforward, since Mar reacted to your scent on me as if you’d taken a sledgehammer to the back of his head. We just weren’t sure if you’d agree to it, all things considered. We thought it was best to get you two in a room and let you resolve it. With the things you said when you sought us out at HQ…”

Dick hums, shifts to put his head on Marlon’s shoulder so he can look at Aiden who’s sitting beside them, still helping to support Mar. “I was severely sleep-deprived and on the verge of passing out from blood loss,” he says, ignoring Mar’s lowly spoken ‘What happened?’. “My mind was hardly at full capacity. I can see clearly now, dear, and I’m still waiting for you to make good on your offer to speak to me, one-on-one, with open honesty. Much of the guilt you bear isn’t yours to carry.” 

Aiden’s eyebrows climb upward slightly as if this comes as a surprise to him. His neutrally anxious scent shift to happiness. Dick should have known Aiden took his words to heart. Aid himself had told him he was always second-guessing his own decisions, after all. If he really had been sweet on Dick before Dick’s scent was unlocked, the guilt must be crushing.

“What happened?” Mar repeats.

Dick leans back only so far so he can look Mar in the face. “I’ll tell you later. I know of your aversions, dear, so I have to ask, do you think you can manage to make love to me?”

Mar grins widely. It makes for a contrasting picture, his eyes glowing with a kit’s excitement and the blood on his upper lip and teeth, making him look like a madman. “Repeatedly, with the utmost enthusiasm and delight.”

Again, a blush burns Dick’s cheeks, belly flip-flopping like a stranded fish. “Very well. Then this is how it will play out. We’ll make love, to start working on the mating bond. You’ll siphon me, and I’ll siphon you back once you’re already high. When we’re knotted, you’ll tell me everything you’ve been up to and found out. I won’t tolerate secrecy. I’ve got issues trusting you and your pack, but I want that rectified. So whatever you consider classified business, I’m in the need-to-know category. When we’re on round two, Aid and Sean will join in, and you’ll siphon them too, accepting at least one of them to knot you while you’re knotted in me. The four of us will spend the day and night making love and talking. Tomorrow all of us will go to Jed in the apartment and we’ll take turns bonding with you. His involvement will solidify the pack bond. By the time we return to the estate, you’ll be a full pack member.”

“What if he says no?” Mar asks with a trace of anxiety.

“Is it custom to deny mating bonds? I thought a prospective mate was an acceptable reason to snipe a person?” Dick asks with a frown, looking to Sean for answers.

Sean holds up his hands, palms out, and smiles. “No, you’re correct. A prospective mate won’t be denied just because our Main is mad as a hornet at him,” he confirms.

“In that case, we need to snipe Laurent too,” Mar says decisively. “ I can smell him on you. Mating in different packs is a recipe for disaster, Richard.”

“That’s taken care of already,” Sean assures Mar with an amused glint in his eyes.

The burst of renewed joy in Marlon’s scent and eyes is further proof that he didn’t abandon his friends with ease and carelessness. Dick cups Marlon’s cheeks. “Are you ready to begin, dear?”

Mar chirps his agreement joyfully.

Dick leans in, risking rejection by going for a kiss rather than a gland, and relaxes in relief when Mar opens his mouth to receive him, mouth tasting of blood, the double set of fangs feeling curious against Dick’s careful tongue, igniting the fire that was already simmering, waiting for a burst of oxygen to set it off.

They don’t make it off the floor for their first round. As a lover, Mar is the opposite of how he presents himself. Gone is the composed Aristocrat, and the most instinct-driven, animalistic Primal takes his place. A year apart hasn't changed Dick's feelings of affection for Mar. But being an O changes a lot. There's no trace of deceit in Marlon's attraction. Siphoning him, Dick can pick up every emotion that matches the words coming out of Marlon's mouth.

In a way, thinking that he was a Juvie, was easier. He still felt sexual attraction back before he knew, but the interest and affection he’d received from people around him was based on personal chemistry and allowed to grow over time. Since his scent was unlocked he can’t walk down a busy street without getting deep-purred. It’s flattering and maddening. Maddening because his body will react to a particularly pleasant deep-purr whether he wants it to or not. He’s expected to want sex, and, as a Primal, he’s more or less expected to want it with anyone who interests him or he feels even the slightest attraction towards. Which, to an extent, he _does_. But he prefers to save himself for true lovemaking. He can’t say if his problem is caused by his Conservative imprinting―(Promiscuity was relentlessly shamed by his family and Dick remembers his father covering Dick’s eyes while they walked past a couple fucking shamelessly against a wall, telling Dick that it’s disgraceful in the eyes of the One to fornicate freely in front of witnesses.)―or if it’s because bonding is such a special thing to him after being denied it for so many years, that sex automatically is elevated to the closest form of bonding to him.

He’s thought about sex a lot lately, and how the discovery of what he is could have passed them all by. One night when Mal was sleeping on his arm purring contentedly in her sleep, one arm thrown over his chest like they’ve slept so many times before, he stroked her long hair out of the way to stare at the spot where her O-gland is located. He’d thought that if he’d just stroked her hair out of the way to look for it before… but why would he have? He thought he was going to be an Alpha.

You can’t see a gland that isn’t secreting. A number of things could set it off, though. A pleasant smell, a touch, a hug. Before Dick met his rat pack, he’d steal used clothes items if he could, just to get the scent. If he liked the scent, his glands would start secreting like mad. He guesses that the O-gland did the same, and that’s what Jason saw. It’s almost funny that his friends’ respect for his integrity and his own shyness had prevented them from detecting his true nature earlier. He’d helped, by not showing them when he reacted with sexual pleasure to touch, not wanting them to be uncomfortable. He thought about that time when he and Knuckles massaged each other. If it hadn’t been pitch dark, or if he’d keened and moved his hips to get friction, Knuckles would have known. If Dick had just asked him, ‘Hey, why don’t you have a gland here like I do?’, Antoine would have known. If Dick had just asked his friends outright what siphoning was… His own pride stopped him from doing that. He tries not to beat himself up about it.

“What are you thinking about?” Mar mumbles drowsily against Dick’s shoulder. They’re on Aiden’s bed, but Aid and Sean left to get food and do errands after having joined the lovemaking for a couple of rounds. Mar’s currently siphon-stoned and knotted in Dick, lying spooned together facing away from the door. According to Aid, they’ve already formed a budding mating bond. Neither Dick, Mar, or Sean can smell it yet, though.

“After I lost Antoine―”

“Antoine is such a fabulous name. I shouldn’t have allowed us to call him Knuckles,” Mar muttering interrupts him.

Dick sniggers. Mar’s the same. Nevermind the aristocratic polish and other changes in his appearance, deep down he’s still the same bossy brat, hampered by none of those second thoughts and doubts that hound Aiden when he makes decisions. “It is a good name,” Dick agrees. “When I was lost in hibernation, I was told you and Laurent almost fell out, because of me. Did you try to force me to siphon?”

“Yes, of course. I’d tried twice before that. Look,” he lets go of Dick’s midriff to hold his hand in front of Dick’s face. “See? See the scars on my index and middle finger?” 

Dick can see bite marks, one row of neat punctures, and another where Marlon must have pulled away while Dick bit down, to create short gashes. “Oh dear. I did that? Oh, no, no. You shouldn’t do that. If I bite something off in self-defense I have a tendency to swallow. Intimidation and a snack in one.”

Mar laughs out loud in delight, scent saturated with happiness. He purrs contentedly and bites loosely at Dick’s shoulder with half-dropped fangs that make Dick thrill with pleasure. “You do that?” Mar asks and Dick can hear the smile in his voice. “Lovely, darling! I certainly appreciate that kind of intestinal fortitude. Lucky for me you didn’t take my fingers clear off.”

“I don’t remember biting you at all, dear. My guess is that my love for you made me keep it at warning bites. But please, tell me what happened?”

Mar swallows a giggle and mumbles ‘warning bites’ to himself before he says, “We got inebriated a few times. You know what too much alcohol does to me. The drinks kept coming and Laurent was off dancing, flirting, too busy to tell us maybe we’d had enough already. So we were cuddling. You’re like Sean. You need no other distraction to tolerate a nice long cuddle. After staring into your eyes for far too long I decided your scent had to be unlocked right there and then. You did _not_ appreciate getting two fingers shoved into your mouth with no warning.”

Laughter bubbles up like champagne in Dick. He can imagine it. Curled up on Mar's lap, drunk out of his head, gazing adoringly into Mar's eyes. Then suddenly getting two fingers less than gently pressed into his mouth out of nowhere. No wonder he bit.

"The second time we were dancing. At that point, we danced more like you and Aid do. Too drunk to be graceful. I felt… I don't know, really. I was perturbed by having to wait until you presented. Your scentlessness posed a threat to your safety that couldn’t be accepted. There was a neat solution and I saw no reason to wait until you presented. I was wildly intoxicated, but not so much that I didn't remember that our friends would disapprove. So I waited until you went to the toilet and waylaid you in there after you’d relieved yourself.”

Dick scoffs, affronted and surprised.

Mar chuckles and kisses his shoulder, hand fanning out over Dick’s chest. “Indeed, my beloved. That was how you reacted then too. I tried to forcefully restrain you, but quickly learned that pushing my fingers into someone’s mouth without at least a little bit of compliance, is not to be recommended. You bit down so hard I had to jerk my fingers out, then you backed into a corner growling, showing your teeth, and demanded to know the point of my action.”

“And you explained it to me?”

Mar bends his head to hide, forehead pressed between Dick’s shoulder blades. His body shakes with silent laughter. “In a manner of speaking. As I remember, in my inebriated eloquence, I said that the point was for you to _let me_ , and stop putting up a fuss like an unruly kit,” he sniggers.

Dick bursts out laughing again. He’s high on joy and siphoning, relief and life. He covers Mar’s hand with his own and interlaces their fingers. “That went over well, I presume?” he giggles.

“Oh certainly. If by ‘well’ you mean that your growl went from ‘don’t touch me’ to ‘prepare to die painfully’,” Mar giggles along.

Dick’s cheeks strain from smiling. “When was this?”

“Do you remember when I had a black eye? My right eye was swollen completely shut and the whole right side was one big bruise.”

“Yes? You said you got it when you were with Laurent.”

“Oh, I did. And I purposely phrased it so it would seem that it was a work-related injury. It wasn’t. Later that evening when Laurent came from whatever he’d been preoccupied with, you’d already left. He noticed my hand was bleeding, grabbed my hand to inspect the damage, and stilled. When he looked back up at me his eyes were black and his anger was so acute it had me sneezing. He understood what he saw. He said to me, ‘I know what you tried to do. I know your intentions are good. It doesn’t change that you tried to molest a minor _in, my, club_. I love you, Mar, but your action needs to have consequences. This is a hill I die on.’,” Mar says, smile in his voice. 

Dick chirps and makes a sound of affection, his heart swelling two sizes for Laurent. “It wouldn’t have unlocked my scent if you’d succeeded. I’m sure it would have given my health a lovely boost, but my scent would’ve stayed locked away.”

“Oh? How do you figure?”

“They did it to me while I was unconscious. Since their intention was to bind me into the pack, when nothing happened aside from me starting to secrete, Jed siphoned me, then forced me to siphon again. That’s what did the trick. I needed the double feedback, I think. Sean told me, when they first smelled me, all three of them had an, and I quote, ‘Oh fuck!’ moment, when none of them could think or move for several seconds. I think Sean must have misinterpreted something in their joint reaction because Aiden’s avoided me since he started to be able to smell me. Before that, he and I had been dating. He’d courted me all summer, which I was too foolish to realize even with the kisses we shared, then, nothing.” Dick had told Mar what had happened. A shortened version, but one closer to the truth than he’d told Mal and Laurent. In the version Mar got, at least Aiden was aware of Dick presenting before Dick was, but he’d left out that Aid knew from day one. Aiden had smelt angry while Dick told Mar and had excused himself to go get coffee downstairs.

Marlon is quiet for a moment. Then, with amused wonder he says, “My, my, my. He’s carrying a torch for you. I’ll be darned.”

Dick snorts. “How did you come to that conclusion from what I just said?”

“If he was courting you all summer, he was showing interest due to your personality. Then he was hit by a train of scent-attraction. He’s explicitly stated that he never wants to get mated. Avoidance is the most logical answer to that equation. Especially counting what he said about you while we were waiting for Sean to bring you and I needled him to find out more about the mysterious O coming to mate me.”

“What did he say?” Dick probes with bated breath.

“He described you as intelligent, smart, a survivor. He said you were incredibly linguistically talented, speaking and writing several languages without having ever gone to school. He called you a dreamboat, describing you as gorgeous, with a body that’s flexible and tough like a withy. That you’re resilient and tenacious. Tender and shy, but brave, with a will of iron, never hesitating to put anyone in their place regardless of their rank.” Mar stops speaking and puts his chin on Dick’s shoulder so he can see Dick’s face. He’s wearing a little frown. “He also said that you have the most beautiful flare he’s ever seen, and that he lost his ability to breathe when he first saw it. How come you’ve never flared? I want to see it too.”

“Old habits die hard, dear. I don’t want to be judged for the color of my flare, and when I was alone it was a liability. I suppose it needn’t be a secret anymore,” Dick answers and flares.

Mar sucks in a breath and stares with wonder. “Oh Light, you’re Chosen,” he exclaims with a reverent whisper.

_“Animal!” someone shouts. Dick doesn’t realize they’re yelling at him until he’s hit by a small rock on his arm. Startled, he’s too numb for it to have hurt, he stops and turns around to growl at his assailant. To his surprise, the man that yelled at him is a Conservative with a wooden star pin proudly on display, not a Prog. Worse, he isn't alone._

Marlon leans over and uses his hand to twist Dick’s head so he can kiss him. Mar’s warm lips and soft tongue make short work of the intrusive memory, but a sense of unease lingers. The kissing riles Mar up, his knot pulls against Dick’s rim until his breath stutters and he comes in Dick again with a whine and collapses behind him. After a moment of silence filled with Mar’s heavy breathing, Mar says, “Do you want me to get him for you?”

Confused, head still bearing the lingering memory of the Conservative who’d instigated Dick’s murder, Dick asks, “Who?”

“Aiden, of course!” Mar rests his chin on Dick’s shoulder again, looking down at him with excited eyes. “If my brother’s too much of an imbecile to go after you himself, I’ll give him to you, if you want. It’s perfect. You love him, he loves you, Badda-bing, Badda-boom.”

A laugh pops the surface, chasing away the last remnants of the flashback. Dick grins at Mar. “You can’t give away people, dear.”

Mar frowns. “Sure I can. If you want me to. I want to earn this mateship, Richard, but you already have everything. I don’t know what else to give you to earn you. If you want my dumb brother, I’ll deliver him.”

Dick giggles, biting his lip. Definitely the same old Mar. Equal parts careless ruthlessness and generosity. Not always a perfect combination but Dick loves him nonetheless. “No, dear. If it’s going to happen, it will.”

Mar does a half roll of his eyes. “You’d both be happier together but, sure, go off I guess.”

Dick giggles. A thought strikes him. “If you truly want to give me something, I know something that only you and nobody else can give.”

Mar perks up and gives him full focus. “ _Mrrt?_ ”

“Write for me. I’ve read everything you’ve written so far. Aid gave me two of your books and since I moved in with the pack, I’ve gotten to read the third one published under a pseudonym too. I’m entranced. I love how your writing sucks me in and makes me forget everything around me. So write.”

Dick thought Mar couldn’t get happier. He was wrong. The scent of Mar’s joy becomes so intense it nearly borders on pain, as if the emotion inside of him has him close to crying. “Okay. What do you want me to write?”

“To start with, you can write a biography of the year spent away from us, so I can be there beside you and forget my misplaced feelings of abandonment,” Dick says and Mar nods enthusiastically on his shoulder, eyes aglow with excitement. “Then never stop writing. Write about historical events in the fashion you do, which makes it feel like one is there when it happens. Write new takes on old folklore, write fiction or whatever you like. Just let me read. For as long as we’re mated, always let me have the first copy of anything you intend to publish, and always let me be the one to read what you don’t want to share with the world.”

For a short beat, Dick’s afraid he’s asking too much. But then he smells the saline as tears well up in Marlon’s eyes and Mar’s smile nearly splits his cheeks. “I’ll do that,” Mar promises.

The door opens and Aiden steps inside carrying a tray of food. There’s a scent of sudden distress. “Mar? Are you crying? What’s happened?” 

Mar tips over to lie with his upper body flat on his back, still locked inside Dick, the movement tugs Dick along so Dick too can see the door. Mar grins at Aid, incriminating tears rolling down his cheeks. “He’s perfect. He’s perfect, Aid. Perfect.”

Aiden scents the air for a few seconds, no doubt picking up feelings Dick and Mar are unaware of having. A smile spreads on his face. “I know,” he says and closes the door. “I know,” he repeats and looks down at the meals he’s carrying. His scent is neutral but before he averted his eyes, Dick thought he looked sad…

* * *


	21. Changing Fate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick has trouble coming to terms with that he has to leave when Jane's in charge. Because of it, he makes himself memorable to the rest of the pack.

* * *

Sniping Mar was easy. Once the mating bond was strong enough for all of them to smell it, it triggered both Mar’s Rut and Dick’s Heat. One thing must be noted: once Mar’s in a Rut, he no longer smells like Sean. He smells like a pure aphrodisiac. Like Dick would imagine a god of seduction, temptation, and sex would smell. He’s a drug that can’t be resisted. Dick understands why Mar avoids people when he’s in a Rut. The short moments they have to be out and about, every O turns their head to scent after him and flirt, even some Alphas do the same. Mar himself suffers horribly unless he’s knotted inside of Dick. But thanks to this, the panic of the shifting pack bond flies under the radar, overshadowed by the thrill of mating.

Getting Jed to comply with the sniping isn’t a problem. Dick leads the way into the lobby, greets the guard, and goes for the phone on the guard’s desk to call up ahead. He tells Jed that he’s acquired a new mating bond and needs Jed to affirm the pack bond, and after Jed’s spoken a few words with the guard, they’re allowed to go up without a hassle.

Mar’s rattled by seeing that Jed’s drunk and high, which Dick finds surprising. Jed’s hiding it from the greater part of the pack, but he hasn’t hidden it from his mates. Jane doesn’t know how to deal with a mate who regularly gets high or drinks himself shitfaced, but the best people Dick knows have always done that. Mar and Jed are left alone for a few hours that seem to resolve an issue between them, at least partially, before Dick, Sean, and Aid return to help secure Marlon’s bonds. It takes less than a week.

Returning to the estate becomes a tearjerker of a reunion between Mar and Anna, and Dick feels grateful to have witnessed it. Nobody could have watched it and still thought Mar left her behind with ease. Jane is outraged but relieved. It’s probably true that she’d have denied him a pack bond if he came home without one. But he didn’t, and the pair love each other. Jane is one of Mar’s most dependable primaries, and it shows.

Dick's distrust of Jane is solely based on her firm refusal to acknowledge the Conservative threat. That's it. To him, she's not a wartime leader. He has trouble accepting anyone telling him what to do, let alone someone he thinks might pose a danger to his loved ones. But Jane _is_ a good leader, generally speaking. She's not about imposing rules and bossing people around. She's about making them feel welcome, fitting them in where they belong in the pack. She's very compassionate. She and Laurent have that in common.

Laurent took to his new pack with ease, spending time with everyone, helping around the home and property, mending things unbidden, socializing, and making himself a welcome part of every faction in the pack. Dick can’t for his life understand why the Hales let him go. Dick wouldn’t. And with that thought, he realizes that Marcel was right. They’re a lot more alike than he wants to admit. But if anyone he loves gets stuck on someone, Dick’s instinct is to recruit the outsider rather than let his loved ones go. He doesn’t care if he’s like the Boltons in that regard. 

He used to ask himself why Antoine didn’t get wanderlust in a pack like the Boltons. Now he’s figured it out. A pack is like a jigsaw puzzle, one piece may only join with one or two others, but those pieces fit with more, and the whole thing sticks together. The rebellion Dick feels about getting mating bonds that weren’t discussed beforehand lessens slowly as he gets to know his new mates. They might hold biological sway over him, but it’s Mal and Laurent fitting in so easily that holds him in check. When Marlon returned, he proved to be the piece of the puzzle to lock Dick firmly in place.

Here’s the thing about Mar: He knows no moderation.

It’s both his biggest strength and a gigantic flaw. It’s what drives him to devote himself to a cause with his full passion while at the same time juggling hobbies and other interests and duties. And his scent-attraction to Dick made him… _intense_.

Mar is different from Dick’s other mates in how he approaches their mateship. Laurent (and Mal) already had a beautiful friendship with Dick, so the only difference is that they now share more tender moments and lovemaking. Their relationship hasn’t changed on any plane except the physical. 

Sean isn’t romantic and has trouble talking about his feelings, but he’s trying hard to get to know Dick, seeking an equal partnership with his mate. In private moments when he relaxes, he’s playful, soft, and sensual. He loves to be physically close without seeking any type of gratification other than simple touches. 

Jed, on the other hand, reminds Dick of Aiden a lot. Mostly because he’s almost always performing one way or another. The exception is when he withdraws to the apartment by HQ to perform his duties hidden away from an audience, battling depression with drugs and alcohol. Any paperwork he handles there is as well written and thought through as what he does in his office, but the rest of him? It’s when Jed finally submitted to Dick’s demand to come to see him there that he started to trust the man. They’d spoken on the phone and Jed said ‘I’m trying very hard to make you fall in love with me. I suspect my chances will be ruined, if you see me as I am now.’ Dick’s counter was, ‘Then invite me over.’ So Jed had. Jed’s a broken man, burdened heavily by his duties and the tragedies in his life, longing for death but resigned to live. In being allowed to see that, Dick started to feel that spark of trust that now has begun to blossom into a deeper affection not forced by the bonds they share. Jed’s a romantic. He loves to dance as much as Dick does, but he loves dances that allow them to be close and stare deep into each other’s eyes. He loves moonlit strolls, having a drink and talk in a secluded corner of a piano bar. Above all, he longs to be seen and known. Once he figured out Dick could take rougher sex, he’s proved himself to be a very primal lover who prefers to fall asleep still knotted together.

What sets Marlon apart from Dick’s other mates, is his intense neediness and passion. If Dick’s in the same room, Mar wants them to be touching. He’s eager to show Dick every aspect of himself, bringing him things he’s written, showing him favorite toys from his kithood, going through his treasures, showing him the hidden nooks and crannies in the estate, discussing history, politics, clothing, makeup, designations, psychology, you name it. He loves play wrestling, and wants to fuck often and _everywhere_. He wants to know everything about Dick, hanging onto every word he says as if he’s been given a treasure. It’s a new side of him that could’ve been overwhelming, but Dick gets swept up in it, and swept off his feet.

He comes to realize how lucky he is. Mar doesn’t share well. But all of Dick’s mates are Alphas Mar considers ‘his’, and therefore can be allowed to touch Dick and take up part of his time.

Mar isn’t with him all of the time. Anna’s getting a huge chunk of his attention too, and _everybody’s_ preparing for the war. A lot of Dick’s time’s spent on pre-bootcamp, being relentlessly drilled in hand-to-hand combat, firearm care, tactics, stealth, anything. The Williams pack is a pack of warriors first, a business second, and Dick gets not only to see that, but firmly _understand_ it. Dick spends a lot of his free time in the library, cramming. He breezes through old school books from first grade and up, struggling with math and stopping at basics since he doesn’t have a lot of time, probably forgetting more than half of all he reads. Frederick often comes to join him by the desk in the library, working from home. He tells Dick to simply ask if he needs clarification for something. Dick feels stupid for taking several days to understand that the Alpha has volunteered to be an on-hand tutor for Dick and that’s the sole reason he isn’t at HQ. He makes for a good companion, who doesn’t interrupt but is a constant support, doing his own thing until he’s needed. When everything gets too much and nothing sticks, Dick will pick out a book about something he’s interested in, like psychology, human biology, or language. He remembers Aiden telling him he solves math problems for fun to take a break, so when Dick finds unused books with quizzes and assignments for English and French, Dick does the same. It comes naturally to him and he enjoys it.

The library at the estate also contains works of fiction in different languages. Dick often takes one of them to bed to read for a while after his companions have fallen asleep. Mar is usually the last one to fall asleep, and often bids Dick read aloud to him, whether he understands the language or not. When Dick does, it rarely takes long for Mar to fall asleep, but if the book’s in Russian, Sean will wake up to listen with a sense of quiet joy. It amuses Dick to note that even literate people enjoy being read to. One evening he picks out a book and goes to one of the common rooms where many pack members hang out, and starts to read aloud. Soon everyone has quieted down to listen, the room humming with content all-is-well purrs, and Dick starts to feel himself part of the pack for real.

The time for their departure is nearing. Aiden comes home from college late one evening. Dick’s already in bed. Laurent’s sleeping on his belly beside him sprawled out like an octopus, nearly hanging over the bedside, a leg hooked over Dick’s leg. Mar’s sleeping cuddled up close to Dick on Dick’s other side, head on Dick’s chest and arm thrown around Dick’s midriff, both Alphas purring in their sleep while Dick’s reading in the sheen of his flare, holding his book with one hand and caressing Mar’s shoulder blade thoughtlessly with the other.

There’s a soft knock on the doorpost and Aiden hesitantly sticks his head inside, making Dick’s belly do a flipflop. He’d thought he was immune to Aid by now, but no. Somehow every other Alpha is measured in comparison to Aiden in one way or another. Even when they come up on top in those comparisons, Aiden doesn't ever really lose. “Hey…” Aiden whispers. “Where’s Mal?”

“Sleeping with Frederick, I would guess. There’s a slow romance blossoming between those two and the Hales rarely both sleep with me at the same time since Mar came home to occupy one side of the bed,” Dick answers quietly. “Are you joining us? There’s plenty of room.”

Aiden hesitates, smiles and comes into the room. He drops his bag on the floor, gets out of his shirts, then stops with his pants halfway down his legs, looking up suddenly, lit by Dick's strong flare casting a red outline on every perfect curve of his body. Dick's pulse jumps like mad at the sight. “Am I making you uncomfortable, Dick?” Aid asks, slowly straightening up, pulling his pants back up as he goes.

Dick smiles and averts his gaze to his book. “You know, dear, moments like these I hate my scent. I find myself longing for the days when I could be close to a complete panic attack and hide it behind a coy smile, only let my words allude to the turmoil within. Now it feels like I’m surrounded by mind-readers.” He looks back at Aid. “If you wish to hide your beauty from me, go ahead, dear. But it’s hardly the first time I’ve been flustered in your vicinity.”

Aiden stares at him unblinkingly for a beat, then smirks and chucks his pants completely. He approaches the bed with a swagger, teething his canines, and flaring. Dick closes his eyes and turns his face back to his book, withholding a giggle. 

“Hey, come on, Dick. What’s the point of showing off all this goodness if you’re not looking?” Aiden jokes, making the bed dip slightly as he gets on it.

“You’re awful, dear. An awful tease.”

“If I was awful you wouldn’t need to close your eyes,” Aid counters, then directs himself to Marlon. “Hey, Mar, you okay with me sleeping here?” he says, then, after a moment of silence, “Mar?”

Dick opens his eyes. “He’s asleep, dear.”

“Yes, but he usually wakes up when someone comes in,” Aid says, voice lilting to a question.

“Not in my experience. I read him something in a language he doesn’t understand and he’s out like a light for the night unless I do something awful to him, like trying to go to the bathroom.”

Aiden sniggers. “How long does he sleep?”

“Only five or six hours.”

“Really? Wow.” Aiden scoots closer to Mar and presses his nose to Mar’s neck, sniffing, trapping Dick’s arm. “He smells peaceful.” He looks up at Dick. “We’re never going to let you go now. You know that, right?”

Dick finds himself smirking. “Certainly, dear. Jed made that very clear. He told me, very understandingly, that if it truly was my wish, I’d be given to soft fades of all my bonds, then he proceeded to fuck me until I was a quivering mess unable to think of anything remotely rebellious. So yes, I know, but I appreciate the honesty. I’ll be fair and admit that my own plan was to snipe you and Mar, once I’d found a suitable Main for my pack. I hope you enjoy the delicious irony in that.” 

Aiden’s lips twitch in amusement for a beat, then his face turns serious, resting his chin on Mar’s shoulder. “How are you holding up? You smell stressed and anxious.”

Dick raises his eyebrows in surprise and sniffs himself. “Do I? I get neutral and content at the moment.”

“What others call a talent, I call a curse. I pick up all sorts of emotions from people, many times even when they’re not aware of those feelings themselves. They, uh, they’re sometimes a heavy burden to me, affecting me greatly,” Aid explains quietly. “If I’m close to someone who is deeply depressed, even if they’re happy at the moment and not feeling their depression, I still smell it, and it affects me. Mar is like that. Has been, since he was a little kit. He’s traumatized by losses but denies to himself how he feels. But I smell it. He’s a bomb of infinite potential explosions, and I need to be there to stave off as many as I can. I…” He quiets for a beat. “It doesn’t matter. What I’m saying is, you’re distressed and anxious. Would you tell me why?”

Dick considers. “Well dear, it’s no mystery. I went from living alone for most of my life, to living with many. There are naked people all around, people who pelt without any misgivings, new skills to learn, new customs, new mates to get to know, new everything, and on top of that, we’re about to go to war. So, yes, I suppose I’m constantly stressed at the moment. But I don’t feel it right now.”

“It makes sense. Going to war scares me too,” Aiden admits.

Dick hums. A thought strikes him. “Say…” He frowns thoughtfully for a beat while Aid keeps quiet, waiting for the question. “Is… Is Mal like that? Like you described Marlon?”

Aiden draws breath, hesitates, then lets out a heavy sigh. “Yes.”

That… explains a lot about their relationship, Dick thinks. Aiden is someone who is constantly struggling to live up to superhuman ideals, already trying his best to stop one loved one from going off the deep end. The thought of adding another is too much. “You know, just because you’re the only one who can smell the problem, it doesn’t mean you’re the only one who can rectify it,” Dick points out. Because Aiden claims to care for Mal, so rejecting her as a pack member must be a self-defensive move. Come to think of it, the two of them usually only show hostility when Mar is present at the same time. This means there are two people with severe emotional issues pulling at Aid, one of which is the beloved brother Aid’s tied himself to since kithood. It’s starting to make sense to Dick.

“I know, I know,” Aiden answers, sounding unconvinced. He changes the subject. “So how’s it going with my brother? What’s it like being mated to him?” 

“Intense. If he could glue himself to me, he would. He’s pushing all of himself onto me, almost making it feel like bits of me fall off to make room for him. But it’s as if he picks up every one of those pieces and shoves them right inside his heart, so it’s okay. I’m just afraid that his idea of what it means to be a mate puts unrealistic expectations on me, and I’ll fail to live up to them.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that. I’d worry more about what will happen when he turns that intense focus onto something else. I’m sure it’ll happen. You might feel abandoned again.”

“Perhaps. But I _do_ have three other mates. Four, if you count Mal. Which I do, bond or not.”

Aiden’s lip pulls up in a corner, lopsided and amused. “Not so bad being an O, after all?”

“I’ll get used to it.” Mal and Dick’s relationship progressed roughly the same as his and Laurent’s, even without a mating bond. The pack bond added another layer of closeness between them, so the disappointment of not getting to mate her has faded. But Dick has four mates, which is daunting and stressful for someone who’d set his heart to one single mate for life. He thinks that if he’d mated his mates one at a time with years apart, slowly getting to know them beforehand, it wouldn’t feel so oppressive. He thinks it would be more like it was with Laurent. A sense of coming home instead of feeling like he’s acquired a sudden addiction. Mar might be proof that Dick might be wrong, because the love and affection were in place already when they got mated, but Mar has shown a completely new side of himself in his capacity as a mate. 

Laurent suddenly flips over and sits up, blinking in owlish confusion, sniffs, turns his head to spot Aiden and chirps in delight, flopping down on top of Dick and Mar to reach Aiden for an affectionate temple rub, before he relaxes down on top of his sleep-companions and goes back to slumber. Mar’s sleep-purrs grow louder with the extra weight, but he doesn’t wake up.

“Oh, for crying out loud,” Aid mutters, somewhere between amused and perturbed. “He effectively locked down all the blankets. Darn hog.”

Dick chuckles. “He _is_ a blanket, dear,” he says. With the hand of the arm he has around Mar, he shifts to give Aiden’s face, so conveniently resting on Mar’s shoulder, a small caress. He feels Aiden smile under the back of his finger.

Aiden mutters something inaudible, smelling happy. “Fair. Good night, Dick,” he says a bit louder and pelts on his back, arms, and legs, leaving his face, and body bare anywhere it touches someone else. 

Dick wishes he knew how to do that. A lesson for another time, perhaps. “Goodnight, dearheart.”

* * *

Aiden’s sad-lumped avoidance of him seems mostly over, however, they’re about to ship off, and everyone’s very busy. There’s no time for any stress-free one-on-one conversations. 

The draft notice didn’t mean everyone in the city is being sent off to war. Some people are assigned tasks to keep life going as ‘undisturbed’ as possible. That apparently means 20 people have been appointed by the government to care for the Williams pack property and assist in kit-rearing alongside the few Os left in the pack. Jane and Sandra are amongst the few staying at home since they’ve got kits under the age of five. It’s a relief to Dick that Sandra will remain, since he doesn’t trust Jane to deal with this situation. But the pack doesn’t get to choose who is assigned to help them at home. All 20 newcomers are Conservatives. Dick comes down the stairs to greet the Conservatives assigned by the government to cover their needs. He spots Mar speaking with a pleasant smelling O, other strangers talking to other pack members, and then―

His eyes snag on a young man who isn’t wearing any token of faith openly, but Dick recognizes him and he’s thrown headlong into a flashback

The events of Dick’s stabbing are fairly blurry to him. His sense of smell wasn’t functioning while it happened, and his strongest memory of the quickly forming mob is the wooden star pin on the chest of the man who threw the first stone. But he remembers the faces, especially when he’s seeing one of them again.

He thinks he hides his strong reaction well enough. The anxiety he can smell on himself is mirrored in many pack members, for good reason. But then Aiden growls, dark and lethal, grinding all conversation in the great entrance to a halt. Aiden’s not even close, standing almost by the double doors as he is, but he looks up at Dick, face hard. “Who?” he asks. His exceptional sense of smell has picked up that Dick’s sudden anxiety wasn’t like the rest of theirs.

Dick unfreezes, points at one of the newcomers and continues to walk down the stairs. “Him.”

The guy stares at Dick with shock and a complete lack of understanding. The pack member closest to him (Dave? Dave. Clara’s dad.) grabs him and he tries to pull himself free. “What? What did I do?” he asks, reeking of sudden fear.

The woman Mar had been talking to frees herself from the crowd and goes to meet Dick. He can smell that Mar’s marked her up thoroughly, claiming her. “Excuse me, Sir. My name is Naomi and I’m in charge of the group that’s come to help you. May I enquire what the problem is?” she asks, posture deferential. Dick finds her very brave under the circumstances.

“Naturally, dear. This man tried to kill me,” Dick answers.

“ _What??_ No! I’ve never―! That’s a lie!” the guy shrieks, trying desperately to tear himself from Dave’s grasp, only to be further restrained by other pack members. “ _What are you talking about???_ ” he yells. “I’ve never tried to kill anyone!”

Dick stops on the last set of stairs and lets his voice ring clear. “Only a few months ago I was scentless. I was walking through the city in clothes that were too thin to keep the icy wind out, and it started to rain sleet. It didn’t take long until I was soaked and chilled to the bone. By Grafton’s Crossing, I realized I would never make it home without freezing to death or the very least get pneumonia. So I utilized one of my innate abilities to save myself.” He pelts.

The guy who Dick had pointed out sucks in a horrified breath and stares at him wide-eyed with recognition. He starts shaking his head. “No, no, no. I didn’t try to kill you. I shouted a few slurs. It wasn’t personal. I didn’t mean anything by it. It was those others who attacked you. I only called you an animal. I’m innocent!” he rambles.

Dick stops listening and turns his attention to Naomi. “They formed a mob, surrounding me. They threw stones and shouted slurs, tried to keep me from fleeing. I was stabbed. I didn’t see the face of whoever stabbed me, but I remember several faces in that crowd, and this man is one of them.” He unpelts, holding her gaze.

She nods slowly. “I understand, Sir. I’m sorry you had to go through such a thing,” she says with what looks like genuine compassion, then lowers her gaze and steps back.

“Naomi? Naomi! You have to help me! _Naomi!_ ” the guy yells in desperation.

Naomi looks at him and shakes her head. “Our religion bids us to be helpful, compassionate, and peaceful people. Our actions have consequences and we must face those with head held high. I can’t help you, Jack. Not when you yourself admit having been part of such an abhorrent act.”

From the back of the crowd Dick hears Jane’s voice, harder than he’s ever heard her before. “Take him out.”

The guy is dragged outside kicking and screaming, the tension inside sky high as the introductions commence. A while later Mar and a few of the others come back smelling of blood, and smoke from the pyre they built. A Conservative woman named Tara who’s close to Dick and Laurent at the moment says quietly to herself, “They built a pyre for him?” in surprise.

It wasn’t meant to be a question for the Williamses, but Laurent answers without missing a beat. “Of course. How else will he be ensured of safe travels to the other side?”

“We’re not animals,” Dick says with a little quirk to his lips, then adds jokingly, “Just fluffy.”

Tara giggles nervously, a hint of fear in her scent. “Yes, Sir. I’m sorry, Sir.”

* * *

Today the whole pack eats together, the new staff joining them at the long tables in the large dining hall. It’s fairly rare that everyone eats together like this, for which Dick’s grateful. There’s a lot of people to get used to and he prefers to have them in smaller groups. But early tomorrow they leave. 

Mar sits to Dick’s right, one hand on his thigh, alternately moving to rest on the back of his chair and back again, always, always in slight contact even if he’s engrossed in a conversation with his other seat neighbor, Clara. Sean’s to Dick’s left. Suddenly Sean nudges Dick with his elbow. “Hey, baby, what are you thinking about? You’ve been poking at your food and Frederick’s asked you the same question two times now without you answering.”

Dick blinks, looking up from his barely eaten meal to find Frederick and Mal, sitting opposite of him, smiling with amusement in their eyes. “Oh. I’m sorry, dear,” Dick answers Frederick. I’m afraid I didn’t hear the question. I’m lost in thought, thinking I should have taken an offer I got a few months back. I was approached by recruiters at the campus who wanted me to become an army officer. It was a very lucrative offer that would have included both an education and pay. Now we’re being drafted, which means I’m doomed to be a grunt. Cannon fodder with nothing to show for it.”

Jane, at the high seat further up Dick’s table, answers, drawing his attention with a smile. “You mustn’t worry about that, Richard. Aside from getting you any education you want once the war is over, all Williamses get to choose if they’d like to be officers, once they arrive for training. It’s a privilege we’ve earned by generations of Williamses devoting themselves to the defense of this country.”

Somehow, this shouldn’t be surprising. “Even we who aren’t born amongst you?”

Jane nods with a smile. “It’s a pack privilege, not hinging on a personal name.”

“Very well.” Dick looks at Mal, then Laurent further down the table. “Then, when the question comes, you choose to become officers,” he tells them. Both Hales nod, eyes alert.

“We don’t tell our members what to choose,” Michael―Mar and Aiden’s uncle―says, not unkindly. Dick’s mostly avoided him since he smells as gorgeous as the rest of Aiden’s close relatives. “We need to assess our own limits, and for some, being a grunt is a better option. The stress of leadership can break a person, especially when the responsibility has life and death consequences.”

Dick twists around to look at him since he’s sitting at the table behind Dick. “Be that as it may. I’ve got full confidence that all my pack members are capable of handling that stress,” a statement that causes some stir and draws attention in the whole dining hall, even if the tables further away can’t possibly have heard what Dick said. Dick’s sure it’s the implication that the Hales are Dick’s pack, not the Williamses, that caused the unrest. “I want them to get a good view and understanding of what happens at the top, because we’re in a civil war, and it’s only a matter of time before the government starts weeding us out from positions of power, within the military as well as without.”

Jane takes a deep breath as if she’s gathering patience. “Richard. I know you’ve listened a lot to Marlon’s conspiracy theories, and I agree that the fanciful visions Coombs lobbies for are troublesome. But he’s one isolated man far from here, and we’re not in a civil war.”

Sean sneezes and Mar’s nose twitches from Dick’s sudden anger. In moments like these, he hates his scent. It used to be so easy to hide his emotions. Not that he isn’t grateful to have his health restored, or that he loves the way he smells any less than when he first smelt himself. But being diplomatic is hard when you smell like you want to throw a punch. Dick gives Jane a tight smile. “With all due respect, Jane. You’re mistaken. And you offer me a grave insult by dismissing two decades of life experience, as if I didn’t exist, and suddenly materialized out of thin air when I met Mar.”

Jane frowns with concern and draws breath to answer, no doubt to deny the blunt allegation. Dick holds up a hand to stop her. “No. Let me speak, dear,” he says, content when she leans back with a go-on gesture. “I can see your point of view. I can see why you’d think I can’t possibly know what goes on behind closed doors in the homes of the richest. You’re a compassionate, warm, and kind woman, with enough perseverance to win the respect and love of kits and hardened soldiers alike. You’ve done a lot to make me feel welcome, giving me both space and inviting me to join in activities. You teach the kits tolerance and generosity, how to be part of something bigger without losing their individuality. I respect and admire you for your ability to make everyone in such a large pack feel at home. But in this one aspect, I consider you a subpar leader for our current situation. You’re willfully clinging to ignorance, because you expect from others what you see in yourself. In doing so, you’re blind to a betrayal lurking underneath a charming veneer. You’re right that we’re not in a civil war, if you count a civil war as two American armies facing off with each other. Not yet and hopefully not ever. But if the Union snuck in and slit our throats in our sleep, would you still say we weren’t at war simply because we weren’t notified of their attack in advance?”

“Of course, I wouldn’t. Though I don’t see how the Union compares to the hate rhetoric I’ve been hearing about Conservatives,” Jane says with an open and calm expression. Dick respects that. Her ability to be levelheaded when she gets critiqued. (Unless it’s Mar talking. He has a gift of pissing people off. It's a talent.) “We’ve always had a friendly and tolerant relationship with the other designations. Many of our business partners and allies are Conservative. Mar would have us sever those ties and act proactively with hostility. We’re talking about people we’ve known for decades, some of whom we even call friends. He wants us to do so, because of what he learned by gaining the trust of a Conservative Aristocrat who doesn't have much power on his own, someone who lives far off in a state not located in our greater territory. If anything, following Mar’s whims, would risk setting off a civil war. But you claim to know better?”

Dick nods. “Your tolerance for intolerance is what’s allowing those who seek to destroy you to do so. It’s been going on for a while.”

“What do you mean by that?” Clara asks and leans over Mar to look at Dick.

“I mean, dear, that you, and Primals in general, are taught to respect boundaries, to allow personal choices, and avoid making people uncomfortable. Why that is has become glaringly obvious to me once I moved into your home. Tolerance is necessary when living with so many, together this close. But Conservatives are raised to adhere to certain sets of rules and to condemn those who don’t. If you’re naked in public Conservatives will be abhorred, so you’re not. After all, you’ve learned to avoid making people uncomfortable. Progs are frightened when you pelt, so you don’t. You are presented with options of what god, if any, to pray to, and you respect those of other faiths. While people like me, being raised by pious Conservatives, are taught that anyone of the wrong faith must be brought to the Light for their own good. All this amounts to allowing those less tolerant to dictate the rules, moving what is considered normal further and further away from your own live-and-let-live mentality. One example of that is that when I was a kit, it was dangerous to pelt in public because Progs got scared and might lash out. Conservatives, on the other hand, would turn their noses up at the behavior, perhaps drop a disparaging comment. A decade later Conservatives, who themselves are able to pelt, thought themselves justified to murder me on an open street for the crime of pelting. By giving strangers the right to not be inconvenienced and uncomfortable, you’re entitling them to dole out harsh punishments on those who do. And what counts as a grave transgression has expanded to include insignificant things over the short span of my lifetime.”

Clara looks thoughtful and leans back again. Marlon gives Dick’s thigh a supportive squeeze.

Dick looks back at Jane. “Jane, until a few months ago, I was insignificant. I was at the lowest rung on the ladder, watching the world change, unable to influence it, but competent at reading the change so I could adapt and take advantage. You already know I’m an interpreter, a reader, and that I helped refugees fill out forms and write letters to City Hall. Yet you seem to think that my job has had no bearing on how I see the world? I’ll tell you a few changes I’ve seen, that makes me agree with Mar that we’re headed for, if not a civil war, an eradication of any culture but the Conservative.”

“I’m interested to hear it,” Jane says, looking like she means it, smelling as if she doesn’t.

“When I started out, filling out forms was simple. I had to jot down a few facts and that was it. No form asked for your designation. That came later, and when it first appeared, I saw no difference in the outcome between designations. City Hall simply wanted to know, seeking statistics. But then, the rejections started. If you claimed any designation except Conservative your chances of getting your application approved dwindled. Next came the law that your designation had to be stated on your ID. Suddenly, lying about your designation was outlawed and could be punished by jail time. I hope you can see the catch? You can’t get any grants from the government if you’re not a Conservative, but if you lie about being one, you’re breaking the law. And before you say anything, this isn’t just international refugees getting their citizenship applications denied. We’ve had a fairly steady influx of international refugees in my lifetime. But, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, a lot of our refugees in New York are Americans from other parts of the country.”

“We’re at war. The Union has driven many from their homes,” Jane points out.

“Certainly. But a while back the Union withdrew. And yet, American refugees keep coming. Can you tell me why that is?” Dick asks, already knowing the answer.

“I would presume they’ve had their homes destroyed or their livelihoods laid to waste. A city offers opportunities that don’t exist in rural regions.”

Dick shakes his head. “Certainly, that is true for some. A lot of refugees that fled earlier have made themselves new homes and a new life here. They won’t return to where they came from. But the refugees that have come here since the Union withdrew are mostly here because the government seized their property while they were hiding, and now refuses to give it back. They’re sent to their local City Hall, then to their state capital, then they come here or to a few other big cities around the country. The paperwork they have to file asks them if they have the original deed of ownership, if they have friends and family living in the area, that can witness under oath that they’re the owners, what their primary source of income is, how much their yearly income is under normal circumstances, to name a few things. An administration fee has recently been added as well. And if you answer incorrectly to any of these questions, you won’t get your home back. And by incorrectly I mean the answers City Hall wants, not the honest answers. Almost nobody has their original deed since when you flee a surprise invasion of your town in the middle of the night, an old piece of paper is the last thing on your mind. Nor are they allowed to enter their homes to get it when they come back.”

There’s a silence after Dick’s little speech and Dick catches some pack members eyeing the new Conservative servants suspiciously. That’s not what he hopes to achieve here. “I make it sound like this is all a big Conservative conspiracy. Naturally, it isn’t. This is a power grab by a few powerful and greedy Conservative Alphas with a lot of patience and money. I say Alphas, because in many states Omegas are no longer legally allowed to own property. That victimizes the Conservative Os as much as it does other designations. In Primal families, the Alphas are the primary stay-at-home caregivers after a kitling is weaned, but Conservatives send their Alphas to war, not their Os. Not until you reach the topmost upper class can you see people from either gender benefit from what’s been going on. People like Naomi and her crew are played as pawns to be manipulated and discarded like trash. While I might lay blame at their feet for their personal actions, I don’t blame them for what’s happening in the country.”

Dick looks at Jane again. “I’ll confess, meeting Mar has influenced me. He gave me words to put on some of the things I’ve seen. I started out as a tidings kit. I stole newspapers every morning and went around reporting the news. Many times I saw events that I’d witnessed firsthand, being reported completely differently in the papers. As a kit, I just thought adults were dumb, too lazy to find out what really happened. After meeting Mar, I redubbed it as propaganda. Mar has given me a historical insight I lacked before. Had you told me that Progs and Packrunners used to be allies I would have laughed, until Mar recited history to me. So, yes, he’s influenced me. However, maybe we shouldn’t be concerned about Coombs, first and foremost. Perhaps you’re right, he himself isn’t a threat to us, nor those closest to him. But we’ve got enemies here in New York, set on eradicating and undermining us. Trying to and succeeding in spreading distrust of Packrunners. I witnessed the Boltons take money from Conservatives to attack an allied pack―”

“That was you?” someone asks. Dick’s not sure who. The room is quietly following along the discussion between Dick and Jane. They’re sitting on the outer row of several long tables and Dick’s back is turned to the other tables.

“Yes.”

“But wait. Is it true that you were _inside_ the core home at the time?” someone else asks.

Dick twists to address all tables. “Yes. Before I had a scent I was a good sneak. I’d been living unnoticed in their rafters for more than a week at that point.”

That creates an uncomfortable buzz in the room, people whispering amongst themselves. The whispers die out soon enough, everyone looking at him like he’s some kind of… Dick’s not sure. There’s a mix of fear and admiration there.

“What I’m trying to say,” Dick goes on, “is that you have enemies within the city, very likely within City Hall, who want you gone. And you don’t know who they are. When you meet them, they smile, they shake your hand and share friendly anecdotes to make you relax. You don’t see the threat of imminent betrayal. You’re rich enough to dig in and sit tight for a long time if needed. But by failing to acknowledge the changing tides, failing to plan for a betrayal you don’t want to believe, you’re only ensuring the future siege, and by then all your allies, all the smaller packs, the grassroots, will already have been weeded out or put on the defensive too, unable to help. The Swifts are well-liked, well respected amongst all designations. The plan was to have them slaughtered and cast the blame on the Boltons, a ruthless pack following Maluk, making them the benchmark of who Packrunners are. The pack of craftsmen who turned on the Hales for money was also well-liked and respected. They weren’t meant to win, only serve as an example of the animalistic cruelty of Packrunners. The threat isn’t far away, it’s right here in the city, and now most of us are being sent away. Do you know who isn't leaving? Those working at City Hall and those working for the government. Those same people who have written and enforced law upon law to undermine Packrunners. You're rarely affected by these laws because you can afford to use bribery to get your way and they know you to be hardened soldiers. But now the soldiers must go, leaving a few domestics, kits, and Juvies. If there ever was a time to get rid of you, _us_ , it's now.” Dick twists back to face Jane. “And I personally don't think you're the right leader in this situation because you don’t see the threat.”

“Are you going to challenge her?” someone calls out from a table further away. Dick’s not sure who it was, but it doesn’t matter. He’s been asked that several times already due to his refusal to let her cement his bond.

He twists around to look in the general direction of the asker. “Dear me, no. I’m not an idiot. I’ve lived alone for most of my life. I haven’t even memorized all of your names yet, so how could I think I’d be fit to lead you?” he asks, mostly rhetorically. “All I know about leadership is what I feel instinctually.” He holds up his hand to start ticking off on his fingers. “Make sure my loved ones don’t go hungry. Make sure they have shelter. Make sure they’re safe. And make sure they’re sleep-purring.” The last statement gets a few giggles around the room. “Living on the streets, I know how to do that. The sleep-purring comes more or less automatically if the goals of food and shelter are accomplished. But here? I’m at a loss. There are new things to consider. Even if we don’t count my jump from a very small pack to a very big one, and we don’t count the fact that many of you generate enough income to feed and shelter the whole pack on your own, there are questions that I’m out of my depth trying to think of. Like, believe me when I say that the question of indoor plumbing is _not_ an issue one has to consider while living on the streets. If Aiden hadn’t explicitly told me, it would never have occurred to me that you could fix any purring-malfunctions he might be experiencing by putting him in a boiling tub of water.”

That makes laughter erupt in the room. Someone hollers a taunt at Aiden who might be laughing the hardest, grinning at Dick from his place opposite Michael.

“Another current issue is the debate of whether or not we need a pool,” Dick adds. “It baffles me and I ponder why anyone would need a pool and what purpose it could possibly have if you’re not keeping fish in it. But then Laurent got all starry-eyed when it was mentioned and I realized that some of you see a purpose I don’t, and it’s bending me out of shape to figure it out. There’s so much that confuses me about pack life, and I don’t think I would be the ideal leader until I’ve grasped all your customs. Like, why’s the cat wearing a dress?”

That gets him more laughter, but sadly, no answers.

Dick directs himself towards Jane again. “Jane. Just because I question you as a leader doesn’t mean I think I would be doing a better job. But I don’t like to be told what to do. And right now I’m being asked to leave the most vulnerable in our pack to go fight in another country, while I know from my personal experiences that we have a much more insidious enemy right at our doorstep, waiting for an opportunity to strike. I believe that the enemy will strike with the force of pen to paper, not with bullets and bombs. No time is better to do so than when we’re not _here_. So I might as well be forthcoming. I’ll go fight the Union in Canada as asked. But if I hear as much as one whisper about unrest here in New York, I’ll desert to come home. And if you don’t take the threat seriously when I come, then yes, I will challenge you. If that’s what it takes to keep my loved ones safe, that will be the hill I die on.”

The room once again descends into silence aside from a few whispers.

Jane rests her elbows on the table, intertwining her fingers, and purses her lips thoughtfully. “I’m thinking I made a mistake, not listening to you earlier. I may not be convinced that you’re right, but I can see that you’re not merely swept up in Mar’s tales the way I’d previously thought. I apologize for my oversight. You have to understand, the first time Mar came running telling us the Conservatives were out to get us he couldn’t have been more than eight. He based his idea on something he’d read in a history book. It’s escalated from there and at times the things he’s said were so toxic and hateful towards other designations that I despaired he’d never learn compassion. I refuse to see us discriminate against innocent people simply because they have different physical abilities than us or pray to another god. But… just because the boy cries wolf in jest doesn’t mean we don’t have wolves in the forest.”

“In all fairness,” Dick says, “and Aiden can attest to that, I do have a tendency to stomp off in the face of rejection. The times the subject has come up before and you’ve brushed my experiences aside as having listened to Mar, I’ve taken personal affront and left the room. Rather than staying to seek your understanding and approval, I’ve simply chosen not to give you mine. The topic at hand hasn’t been important to me before since I was too insignificant to be a target. But now it’s very relevant. By merging our packs, the rules of the game changed for my pack and me, and we’re now in the line of fire.”

“If you could give me directives of what to do in your absence, constraining yourself to things that wouldn’t provoke any animosity that isn’t there already, what would those be?” Jane asks curiously.

Dick can smell his own anxiety of being put on the spot, and hates that others can too. He looks around, mind whirling with risks and possibilities. He thinks of the situation. It’s alien to him. It’s as alien as waking up in a hospital. He’s now one of the people he’s spent his life trying to cheat. Rich people who make up rules for others. He’s read about their intrigues in the news, and found loopholes in their laws. What advice would he have given them if they were a pack of refugees? Is it really that different from when all he had were the kittens to protect? One time Martijn had stood below his nest in the Arch and called up to him, in a friendly voice and posture, begging him to bring the kittens down so he could pet them. Is this any different? Or does it just feel that way due to the grand scale of things? “This home, as ornamental as it is… I’ve been told it’s a fortress? That we could hole up in here and a few people could keep a much larger, armed force at bay?” he asks, wanting the confirmation. He’s seen the cellar, the stashes of weapons, food, and valuables. He knows they’re ready to be besieged.

“That’s correct. In case of a military attack, we have what we need to survive for a long time,” Jane agrees.

Dick has the strangest feeling of deja vu. Like he knows what could happen because it’s happened before. A memory he can’t access dancing outside of his grasp. “In that case… firstly, no matter what, the kits are not allowed to leave the premises. I’ve heard stories of people having been asked to travel to register their whole families at their state’s capital, only to have their homes taken from them while they were away. I’ve heard cases of kits being taken away to be fostered by others. So our kits never leave the premises for anything as long as the majority of the pack is away. If you’re asked to bring the kits somewhere, you lie. Make something up. Say you can’t because you’re having an outbreak of boxfoot fever. The law strictly forbids anyone to move about with boxfoot fever due to the risk of it spreading, so it’s a good lie. If you have to leave the estate, split the pack up. I never want you and Sandra to be at the same place outside of the estate. That way, if something were to happen to either one of you, the other won’t go down at the same time. Conduct as much of the business as you can from home, through phone and letters. The business is already at a standstill more or less? Or am I wrong?”

“Partially,” Jed answers, making Dick twist around so he can see Jed at the table furthest away. The Patriarch has been quiet through all of this. “We own companies that produce gear needed in the war. Those factories are still going full force. But a lot of our business is currently at a standstill or close to it with both customers and employees getting drafted.”

Dick hums and starts musing out loud. “Very well. If I was trying to wrestle power away from you and I was in the government, this would be a good time. Looking at how the government has handled refugees, I think I’d instate some new law. Maybe a new tax or registry? Then I’d put an impossible deadline on it that you couldn’t fulfill without Jed at home. I’d make sure failure to comply would be penalized by seizure the company and all its holdings. I’d be outwardly polite and pretend to agree with you that this is outrageous, but I’d pretend that my hands were tied. If I’m already paying to start pack wars, I won’t hesitate to pull strings to get people killed, I might use this moment to try to lure you into a physical ambush. I know enough about packs that I realize getting to your Main, or even better, your kits, will get you off balance and unhinged.” He can smell anxiety but it’s no longer his. People are getting uncomfortable. Dick bends his head and closes his eyes with a thinking frown. “What else? I’m already throwing away money carelessly to manipulate the packs, but I’m not really trying to convert anyone, am I? I could have used that money to sway the actions of the Boltons and craftsmen differently… I…” Without looking he points in the direction of Naomi, sitting further down the table. “You don’t matter to me,” he says, realizes how it sounds, and opens his eyes to look at her.

Naomi is trying very hard not to show it, but there’s a faint scent of fear coming from her part of the table and her eyes are worried.

“I’m sorry, dear. I’m speaking on behalf of our envisioned enemy. To me personally, you became very important the moment you were assigned to live in my home,” Dick assures her. “But in some parts of the country, Conservative foster parents have been used to convert Packrunning kits. I, as the power-hungry enemy here in New York, don’t really care about conversion, I think. I might have been asked to go down this route by a co-conspirator, but I don’t think I truly care for it. I think I’d like faster results, like when I paid to start pack wars. So I want the Williams pack out of the way. Why would I bother converting them? I don’t think I would, so to me your lives are as expendable and insignificant as any Packrunner’s. You don’t have money and power enough to benefit or threaten me, after all,” he explains.

Naomi relaxes. Minutely.

Dick turns to face Jane again. “If they come for the business, you let them. Under no circumstances will you go to them to negotiate, or comply with demands that seem innocuous but require you to travel someplace of their choosing. I believe whoever paid for the pack wars is out to get us too, and they might very well pay for someone else to attack us. Hopefully, I’m wrong. But our new Conservative helpers will be vulnerable, both a weak spot to us and vulnerable to outside pressure like bribery or blackmail. They’re caught between a rock and a hard place. I want you to do all in your power to make Naomi and her crew feel welcome, keeping them safe. If they leave the premises unattended they may not re-enter, but if they come to you for help, their families are being threatened or something like it, contact the Hales to help get their families here, where they’d be under our protection. They’re not to be our hostages, they’re free to leave whenever they want. But they’re not allowed to come back if they leave us.” Dick turns his head to look at Naomi. “That’s fair, is it not?”

“Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”

Again Dick looks at Jane. “Above all, send for us. The Union is the big, barking dog straining against his chain trying to get to us, but we’re small, and the cat making ready to pounce behind our back may look less intimidating, but is the bigger threat. So if strange things start happening, send for us. I will come. I can’t speak for the rest of us, but I’ll desert without a second thought to protect what I love. I’m committed to my follies. Lastly, be courteous, sweet, and polite in all your dealings with government officials. Just don’t give an inch. Claim you’re unable to make those decisions without your mate. They’ll know it’s a lie, but it’s what a Conservative O would do, and can’t be counted as provoking a civil war if it isn’t already underway.”

Jane strokes her pursed lips in a thinking gesture, looking at Dick. "So… what you would have me do… is nothing. You want us to dig in as if we’re already besieged, and wait for the rest of the pack’s return?”

“I think that summarizes it, yes,” Dick agrees. “I don’t see how it could look provocative that a few Os with their kits sit tight and take no executive action while their mates are at war.”

“You’ve obviously put a lot of thought into this―” Jane starts, but Dick interrupts her.

“Dear me, no. You asked me just now, so I’m thinking on my feet. Like I said, until recently I was the most insignificant cell of the body that is our country. Homeless, scentless, friendless, and bondless. I’ve been barred from participating in society at large. No one would hire me for a real job or rent to me before I had friendship bonds since they expected me to die any day.”

“With your language skills you could have come to us,” an O, Rosie, interrupts. “We would’ve had a lot of use for someone like you at HQ.”

Dick scoffs. “Rosie, dear. I did come to you. I’ve tried applying for a job at HQ three times. I’ve never gotten past the receptionist. And that goes for all the companies I’ve visited. Just like the government has layers and layers of paperwork and employees to keep people from interacting with the decision makers directly, so do businesses. There are gatekeepers everywhere. But that’s not the point. Jane said I’d put a lot of thought into this, but I haven’t. Until roughly two months ago none of this concerned me. Then my pack merged with yours and all of a sudden we’re targets. Still, I’ve been overwhelmed and stressed out, trying to learn customs, academia, skills, and getting to know people in the short timespan I’ve been here. It’s amazing my internal scream hasn’t kept you all up at night.”

That makes several people laugh or snigger. Marie, another O, grins at Dick. “Richard, most of us brought mental scars from the war with us when we came here. If internal screaming could be heard, yours would be one of many.”

Dick huffs in amusement along with others that laugh. “Point.” He looks at Jane. “Until now I hadn’t thought about what to do. I’ve been too preoccupied with everything else. I’ve felt from day one that your kindness, compassion, and unwillingness to believe there is a threat, endangers those I love. But until just now I hadn’t considered any solutions.”

“Jane, if I may?” an Alpha at the table furthest away, sitting close to Jed, speaks up. Jane makes a go-ahead gesture. “You know I’ve always thought Mar’s trash talk was a bunch of horseradish. But I was part of the Swifts’ defense in the war with the Boltons, and I’m part of the group working with the Hales. I’ve heard detailed accounts of what happened with both the Clovers and the Boltons.” The Clovers were the unfortunate craftsman pack. “I’ve heard about Dick’s eyewitness account of what he saw inside the Bolton’s home, and everything he’s ever told the Hales has checked out. He’s continuously brought information to the Hales and told them how it could be useful. I know him to have a talent for weeding out what’s important, picking needles out of haystacks. Hearing him talk now puts more fear in me than Mar’s ever managed. It makes me hesitant to head to the front, and from what my nose tells me, I’m not the only one.” There are murmurs of agreements from several people. “Dick’s asking us to go into defense peacefully, no different than we did when the Union was at our doorstep back in the days. I don’t think it’s unreasonable. And if our government takes offense, then they’re not our government. Pack comes first.”

Voices of agreement pipe up from several people at all the tables. Dick’s struck with a sense of wonder. How could an Alpha whose face he barely recognizes hold him in such high esteem? And the information he’d brought to the Hales, it’s been minor things he’s heard, moving about invisible in the city. He’d merely suggested how it might influence the Hales and left any deeper thoughts about it to them. To him, it was such a tiny and insignificant way of thanking them for giving him a safe home. Nothing to ever compare in magnitude to what they’d done for him. Maybe, when they offered him to join the pack, they didn’t do so solely to be nice to Laurent? Maybe it wasn’t a reward for the single act of warning them of the ambush?

Marlon’s hand squeezes his thigh and Mar leans in to give him an affectionate temple rub. Dick’s brought back from his distracted thoughts to find Sean, Mal, Laurent, and Mar looking at him with pride and admiration. Frederick’s looking at him too, with respect. Like he’s done something bigger than just voicing his opinion. In the room a discussion goes on, people keeping quiet to hear what others at other tables are saying. Not everyone’s agreeing with Dick. Some want to keep up business as usual to the greatest degree possible to minimize financial losses. But a vast majority are for the caution Dick’s asked for. There’s a general agreement that if the government opposes that their Os and kits dig in defensively, then they don’t have the pack’s interest at heart. In the end, Jane and Jed decide to adhere to Dick’s suggestions despite the potential economical losses. Dick’s trust in Jane skyrockets.

They leave for the front or West Point early the next morning. The remaining pack’s safety is now out of Dick’s hands…

* * *


	22. The Promise Filfilled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick's sent to Bootcamp and soon runs into someone he'd never expected to ever see again. The meeting is life-altering, but Dick doesn't know it yet.

* * *

Basic combat training goes by in a flurry. Constantly tired, hungry, and in pain, Dick’s surprised to find that he enjoys it. He and the other Williamses are way ahead of most people, having had both hand-to-hand combat training and weapons training. Dick finds himself superior at running the obstacle courses, but he struggles to carry the heavy backpack for long distances when they go for runs. His stealth capabilities are now abysmal, he thinks. He’s still a good sneak, but unlike his peers, he’s not used to making adjustments for his scent. In games of ‘hide and seek’, he’s easy to track, but difficult to spot due to his penchant for strange hiding places. The Sergeant who trains them gets mad at him for calling it ‘hide and seek’. “It’s not a game, you motheaten donkey brain! It’s a matter of life and death!” he shouts in Dick’s face. But that’s the only type of game Dick’s ever known so he doesn’t see the difference. Any time they practice facing foes with scentblockers, Dick shines. Instead of dosing them with the very expensive scentblockers, they’re dosed with a chemical that makes them noseblind for about a day. Many recruits freak out, scared at being unable to smell anything. To Dick, it simply puts him in his ‘natural’ state when others can’t smell him - not being able to smell anything himself is just a minor drawback.

Dick might not like being told what to do, but somehow, the military works for him. It reminds him a lot of his old life. When they’re woken up 40 minutes after having gone to bed after a grueling day, only to have to run the obstacle course in the total darkness of a sudden rainstorm, it’s no different to Dick than waking up to someone having found his nest and being chased by Snatchers. The main difference is that he’s fed. Sure, they often go hungry, working long hours way past normal mealtimes. But they’re fed daily, and the food is fairly nutritious. 

Dick makes friends with the people he's training with more ease than he'd anticipated, despite not really trying to. There are culture clashes caused by the Conservative faith. One Omega makes a scene about having to share barracks with Alphas, since they've got communal showers. Her complaints are dismissed. An Alpha has a huffy tantrum during an exercise because Dick's been put in charge of his squad and Omegas should never be allowed to tell Alphas what to do. But the army doesn't put up with that sort of discrimination. Everyone is made to adhere to the same rules and conditions.

When basic training is finished, most are sent off to the front. Those chosen to be officers are sent to get additional (but wildly reduced) training in different places or they stay behind for a few more weeks, depending on their specialties and skills. Dick's been moved to a new location right on the American side of the Canadian border in Maine to receive a more academic form of training, as well as, he discovers, a much more sinister one - interrogation, that's taught to him because of his language skills. There's still a large amount of physical training too. He’s now separated from all of his pack, but it doesn’t feel like there’s a malicious reason for it. They’d all been sent where they’d be of most use or get the most useful training.

Dick’s one of a group of 8 people with a lot of extra academic classes interspersed with leadership-, teambuilding, and combat exercises. At first, he thinks it’s because he’s behind, but he comes to realize that he and his 7 companions all caught the interest of the military during Bootcamp, and they’re being prepped to possibly become permanent employees of the army in special branches where few people are viable candidates. He’d been singled out for his talents and actions during Bootcamp, not because he’s a Williams. That feels good. It feels good to know that even if he’d never met the Williamses, and had taken one of the slum-recruiters’ offers, he’d still have ended up here. 

One of the classes he’s assigned is called ‘the psychology of war’. In the brief summary of each class, it’s described as a study of the effects of combat on a soldier both during and after war, and how to manipulate the enemy’s psyche. When asked, Dick’s drill sergeant tells him that normally the class is divided into several blocks studied over three years’ time, not compressed into a few weeks. But right now the orders are to get as many soldiers to the front as possible and to do it fast. 

Dick doesn’t think much about it, but he’s grateful to have real teachers telling him things about interesting subjects. That is, until he steps into the classroom and gets a whiff of Army Specialist M. Przodownik, who’s teaching the class. Dick darn near trips when he lays eyes on the man, especially considering the silver star pin on his uniform lapel. His heart beats excitedly with anticipation during the whole class.

After class, they’re supposed to go have lunch, but Dick remains seated as his classmates leave, staring, waiting for a reaction.

“I take it you have something to say, Mr. Roman,” the Army Specialist says, at last, not looking up from where he’s scribbling on papers.

“I’m wondering about the star, Marcel. If you’re going to point to it as a reason to go back on the promise you gave me,” Dick says.

Marcel Bolton’s lip curves upward in a corner. He finally puts down his pen and looks up. He plucks the star pin from his uniform jacket lapel and looks at it, twirling it in his fingers. Then he presses a finger to the needle, releasing a small burst of coppery scent, and uses the droplet of blood to smear the silvery star. “You mean this? A mere camouflage,” he answers and flicks the star pin to the floor. It skids and bumps into the wall in a corner. “You can’t wash the spots off a tiger.” His scent is completely neutral, as if Dick’s sudden appearance doesn’t jar him in the least. It annoys Dick.

“Tigers have stripes,” Dick counters.

“Not snowtigers,” Marcel points out. Dick wouldn’t know. “So, Dick, how are you liking your new boots?” he asks and leans back in his chair, one wrist resting on the edge of his desk, elbow hooked over the back of his chair. 

Out of all the things he could have said, that was the last thing Dick expected. Marcel could mean the question both literally and metaphorically. Dick’s boots were the first thing they talked about when Dick had him in the crosshatch of his crossbow. But Marcel could just as easily be referencing Dick’s scent or pack bond. “There’s some minor chafing. Once I’ve walked in them a few more miles I’m sure they’ll fit,” he settles on, answering mostly rhetorically. The boots the army provided are a dream come true for a street-kit.

Marcel’s lip twitches in amusement again. He’s not big on smiling. “So… I’m an ally of the Williams pack now, I presume,” he muses and crosses his arms over his chest. “You told me to join a pack with suitable ideals, but you never gave me a deadline, so I consider myself within my right to hold off until I feel like re-joining a pack, without having broken my promise.”

Dick inclines his head in acceptance. He would have hated if anyone forced him to run in a pack. Not joining one, period, is a workaround he can accept and respect. “Are you refraining from mentioning the most important promise you gave me on purpose? Or did it simply escape your mind,” he says, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest, unthinkingly mirroring Marcel’s position.

Marcel arches an eyebrow. “Is it, though? I would think the promise not to pose a threat, and to ally myself to your pack would be the most important promise. You’re a Williams now. You can afford to buy as many scentblockers as you need.”

Marcel’s right, on a grander scale. Wanting to be able to hide his scent at will is a purely selfish wish. It ticks Dick off and his scent instantly notifies Marcel of that with a stinging bite. “Be that as it may, you still promised to teach me how to hide my scent if we ever met again. I can’t exactly go around dosing myself with scentblockers every 20 minutes. We’ve met. Now teach me,” Dick says, impatience creeping into his voice.

“I’ve told you before, it’s notoriously hard to teach. Normally, I’d be spending all my days with my student, making the lessons ongoing through all other activities. It could take weeks, months, before the breakthrough comes. That’s if the student manages to do it at all. It’s an ability that should remain a secret. It would garner a lot of attention if someone finds out you can do it. If the military finds out, they will send you on solo stealth missions that are nothing short of suicidal. You’ll have to go into the middle of heavily guarded buildings and stay hours or days inside without backup and no one to extract you. There are other dangers. Once the breakthrough comes, control rarely comes with it. You can get stuck scentless again, or your scent might sway on and off out of your control, or the ability might fail you when you most need it. It requires practice. Ideally, it’s taught to kitlings during their first year because then they still have a perfect, instinctual ability to mimic any and all primal abilities they see in the adults around them. But you’re an adult, so it won’t happen automatically.” Marcel pauses, watching Dick’s jaw set stubbornly. “I’ll tell you what. Come to me after the war is over, when both you and I have all the time in the world to practice. I’ll teach you then.”

Dick shakes his head. “I want us to start now.”

“Your schedule is very busy, Private First Class Roman.” Referring to Dick’s current rank evokes Dick’s packed training regimen. When he leaves here he’ll be a Corporal, skipping over years of training and field experience that normally were required to earn the rank. The military’s currently slapping badges on people and throwing them at the enemy knowing many will die, fixing ranks by promoting or demoting people in the field.

“So I’ll come to your quarters when it’s time to sleep,” Dick suggests, not budging.

Marcel is quiet for a long time, regarding him. Dick starts to think he needs to argue more, but then Marcel leans forward on his desk. "As you wish. I live in the second apartment of building B. I'll be awake, waiting for you."

Thus begins a very difficult time for Dick. Marcel deep-purrs from the moment he opens the door and lets Dick enter. The Alpha doesn’t try anything, isn’t leery or pushy. He sits Dick down, offers him snacks, coffee, and fruit juice, and starts talking, deep-purring anytime he doesn’t speak, body language and focus in teaching mode, as if he’s saying ‘Oh, by the way, I’d like to fuck you,’ as a mere after-thought. He smells a lot like Antoine, more so, perhaps, now that he doesn’t have the Bolton bond. Dick’s affected, but tries to pretend he isn’t. Marcel knows anyway, since Dick’s scent says ‘How about yes?’ It’s one of those annoying things that makes Dick want to learn this so badly.

They’re seated by Marcel’s small, square kitchen table. Marcel sits diagonally beside Dick. “Humans are the same as the animals they evolved from. One day a wolfcat stood up, unpelted, and shifted its body a little. She was now human. Why she did this is frequently debated, but we haven’t been able to find any major differences that aren’t cosmetic. We have the same size brain and our morph cells work the same. And everything we are, happens right here,” Marcel says and bends forward to tap Dick’s temple. “Our brain controls everything. Liver, heart, lungs, scent, thoughts, everything. It’s all about chemical reactions. They can easily be tampered with. You may think your thoughts and feelings are your own and unchangeable, but they can be swiftly changed by changing the chemistry of your brain. That’s the core of bonding, but we can also see it demonstrated when we drink alcohol or do drugs. Or, if we don’t sleep enough, we’ll start to think dumb thoughts while still believing ourselves reasonable.”

Dick knows all about that. “How does that relate to scent control?”

“The first year of life we’re more or less a blank slate. We learn the basic primal abilities we see the adults around us use. It’s a matter of survival. If you nurse a kitling while switching your scent on and off again, you’re transferring to the kitling a blueprint on how to do it. They’ll start doing it on their own. They’ll also be affected by the hormones and scent they pick up at the moment just before their primary hides their scent. If their primary hides their scent when they’re scared, the kitling will see the skill as a defensive one, if their primary is excited, doing it while hunting, the connection will be different. Then, as the kitling grows, thoughts and verbal instructions cue her into when to use her skill. The first year of life, the reactions of her primaries are of the utmost influence on the kitling, and after that foundation she is primed to watch and learn from the reactions of others who surround her. The older she gets, the harder it is for her to learn the ability.”

“Mhm?”

“In modern-day, scentlessness only has negative connotations. Should a kitling lose their scent, or even have it fade slightly, the adults around her will instantly show distress, non-verbally telling her it’s wrong and bad. Today you won’t find an adult who coos in delight at their kitling suddenly becoming scentless, hiding and releasing their own scent to show her how it’s done. Today we only connect scentlessness with depression and possible death.”

“It’s what triggers scentlessness.”

Marcel shakes his head. “What triggers you to run? Someone chasing you with a knife? Certainly. But you run for a lot of other reasons too. You drop fangs to threaten someone, but also to entice a potential lover or to show friendliness. Losing your scent due to depression is an instinctual defense, so is going into hibernation. It happens at a stage when you’re no longer in control, and we no longer use the ability in any other way. We receive the message that it’s bad from our first breath until our death. We’ve got it ingrained into minds that it’s bad for survival. That’s what makes it so hard to teach. Pelting can also be hard to teach for the same reason. It’s easier, because it has visible cues. When you try to teach someone to pelt you instantly notice whether they were raised with a positive view of primal capabilities or not.”

“Because they resist the lesson unconsciously,” Dick muses.

“Exactly. Scentlessness in itself isn’t dangerous. Prolonged scentlessness is, but everyone can be scentless for a couple of hours without it affecting their mental or physical health. After that, it depends on your resistance to its negative effects. We already know you have an exceptionally high tolerance. I meant it when I said I think you could achieve the same mastery as someone who got the skill from the teet of their Primaries. But there is a risk you might resist learning much harder than the average person, having felt the negative consequences of prolonged scentlessness. You might fail. It doesn’t make me a bad teacher or you a bad student. It’s a survival instinct on the most basic, chemical level.”

“Doesn’t matter. I need to try,” Dick insists stubbornly.

Marcel nods. “Okay. If you’re determined to learn, I need honesty from you. I’ll be asking you a lot of personal questions about your life experiences. I’ll be doing it to try to figure out your trigger, since it isn’t the same for all. One might think it’s a great, traumatic fear, for instance. A big event that scared us greatly, but surprisingly often, it’s not. The triggers are usually events where we would have hidden our scent naturally, while the traumatic event often occurs within seconds of the triggering moment,” Marcel explains. When he sees Dick’s uncertain frown he adds, “It’s rarely the moment when you’re rushing the deer you’re hunting, but the moment you caught its trail.”

That makes sense. “I see.”

“To hide your scent, you clench. It’s the only way I have to describe it. Normally, I’m working with people who’ve never been scentless, who’ve never known what it feels like to clench. Someone who lost their scent due to grief might not consciously register the feeling, but at least they’ve felt it. It can be an angle to start from if they manage to access the memory of the exact moment they lost their scent. I think we might have a slight advantage with you, since you’ve experienced what releasing feels like. Can you recall what it felt like the moment your scent was released?”

“No. I was unconscious at the time, dying from a stab wound and didn’t wake up until three weeks later.”

Marcel stares blankly at him for several seconds before he takes a deep breath, runs a hand over his face, and sighs. “No shortcuts then. Splendid. Okay. So I’ll need you to answer honestly and openly to any question I ask. It’ll require giving me trust I’m in no doubt you don’t have. Tony has told me a lot about you. I know, for instance, your reaction to being nude in front of him. But I’ll still want to hear about things like that from you. Don’t hold back due to pride or distrust, or we’re doomed to fail from the start.”

Dick squirms. “You’ll know more about me than my mates.”

“Yeah, so? What of it?” Marcel says, body language and tone sounding so much like Antoine it hurts.

“You have to promise not to tell anyone what I tell you.”

“It’s a given, isn’t it?”

Dick gives him a dry look. “No, it isn’t.”

Marcel smirks. “No, it isn’t,” he agrees. “Very well, I promise not to tell anyone what you reveal about your past and your emotions while we’re having these lessons.”

Dick makes note of the loophole in that. It leaves Marcel free to tell anyone anything Dick says outside of the lessons, even in private. He opens his mouth to correct Marcel, but realizes that he can’t make Marcel promise he’ll never tell anyone anything Dick’s told him. Marcel is his officer and might need to talk about Dick. Who knows? Tying Marcel to an overarching promise of silence might end up endangering Dick’s loved ones in the future, simply by Marcel not passing along information Dick’s given him. “So what do you want to know?”

“When you…” With that, Marcel starts picking Dick’s brain. He’s easy to talk to - a good interviewer, or interrogator if you will. He never asks leading questions and has a body language that makes confessing things come a lot more naturally than Dick thought it would, considering Marcel’s cold eyes and appearance of lacking compassion. He gives instructions too along the way, suggestions to help Dick clench, but it doesn’t work.

The second night Dick comes by Marcel’s prepared another lesson in the psychology of war alongside trying to get Dick to clench. He’s searching for what works for Dick, how he learns the best, and what makes him relax. Marcel says that trying too hard can lead to frustration that completely blocks out one’s ability to learn a given skill. That frustration makes you think that it’s impossible.

The third night Marcel turns Dick back at the door, telling Dick to go to bed in the barracks. Two hours later they’re woken up for a surprise midnight exercise. 

Dick keeps going to Marcel every night he isn’t turned back because Marcel knows when surprise exercises will come. It has both benefits and drawbacks. He’s exhausted, running on a lot less sleep than his peers. On the other hand, he learns a lot his peers don’t. Every extra lesson in the psychology of war is something that was cut out of the condensed class he’s taking. By mimicking Marcel’s interview techniques he improves on the verbal parts of the interrogation class. They’re also learning torture, which isn’t affected by Marcel’s lessons, but Dick’s far more interested in things that are useful in civilian life.

One week of getting deep-purred wears Dick down, separated from his mates and pack, he says yes. Marcel surprises him by not wanting to knot him straight away. Instead he explores Dick's body with mouth and hands, stopping every so often to talk about scars, asking questions about Dick's experiences and what he's feeling. Dick starts to think Marcel isn't a knothead, rather only seeking another angle to find Dick's trigger.

Marcel isn't very forthcoming about himself, but does answer some of Dick's personal questions. Dick finds out that Marcel is Antoine's uncle, that Antoine's mom was Marcel's mate, and his sire was Marcel's twin brother. He doesn't go into detail and appears fairly blasé when speaking about his dead mate and brother. He says "Some things I won't tell anyone unless I'm pack bonded to them," shutting down further questions.

Dick can't hide that he's fucking one of his officers. He smells of sex. One night Dick's drill sergeant pops in for a visit to find Dick and Marcel knotted by the table while going through a questionnaire for the psychology of war. He seems surprised, but Marcel smirks and says, “I told you I was tutoring him, Shane.” The drill sergeant agrees that what he’s seeing is exactly what he’d been told was going on. He stays and chats for a while as if everything is perfectly normal despite Dick's embarrassment. Nobody ever mentions the sex after that, though. Dick's peers might have made remarks if they didn't realize that any night Dick sleeps in the barracks they're being warned of surprise night exercise.

The sex leads to Dick hearing Marcel laugh properly for the first time. They're in bed and Marcel's knotted in Dick who's lying flat on his belly. Marcel keeps telling him scenarios that are vastly different that he’s supposed to try to imagine as vividly as he can. As every scenario is given, a trigger cue is given either verbally, with a poke, or by Marcel digging his fingers into Dick’s ribs.

"You're a kit still. You turn a street corner and spot three men with their backs turned. Two of them are young. A Juvie, close to presenting, and a young Alpha, one, two years at most. But the third man you recognize. He’s the Snatcher that fooled you and caught you. The wind is at your back and you stop dead. They turn around. _Clench_ ,” Marcel says and digs his fingers into Dick’s ribs. He gasps, spasms, and starts giggling, smelling happy.

“Darn it! I’m starting to think you’re not doing this to help me at all,” Dick complains, scowling at the mattress beneath him.

“Of course, I am, sweetkit. But I’m also taking full advantage of the fact that people tend to clench their muscles,” Marcel sniggers.

“I don’t know, but to me, it doesn’t feel right that a teacher should orgasm anytime their student fails,” Dick says sarcastically.

Marcel laughs. It’s such a carefree sound Dick has to twist around to look at him. It’s the first time he’s seen Marcel’s eyes hold any kind of warmth while looking at Dick. “It’s a rare perk, for sure. But I can smell you’re enjoying getting fucked as much as I enjoy the fucking so don’t go misdirecting your frustration for your failures.”

Dick looks back at the mattress muttering under his breath. Marcel’s right. Getting fucked by him is therapeutic since Marcel spends so much energy on Dick’s full body. Not only in a sexual way. He’ll touch and scrutinize every little spot, talking about his findings, sometimes comparatively or lecturing. ‘Does this hurt? For a fifth of the known world’s population, this is very painful. The rest of us barely feel it and it’s about a certain nerve that’s located here for some but hidden beside the bone, here, for most of us. We…’ or ‘Oh, this could have gone very bad. How did you get this scar? Underneath here you have a large artery that…’ So Dick’s getting to know his own body based on its functionality rather than how it’s perceived. He also learns things sexually, like when he’s reading the night’s psychology of war lesson, and Marcel spends a full hour on his knees between Dick’s legs, doing exactly nothing other than slowly licking Dick’s balls. It feels nice enough. Nothing special. That is until Dick suddenly has an orgasm. He isn’t even at half-mast. Over and over Marcel gives him moments of ‘I didn’t know my body could do that’.

“You can stop including where the wind’s coming from, in relation to me,” Dick says loud enough for Marcel to hear once he’s stopped grumbling about stupid Boltons. “I’ve been scentless all my life, remember? I’ve had less than four months to get used to people being able to smell me at all and I frequently forget. Having the wind at my back would not have any effect on my actions.”

By the end of week two, Dick’s exhausted, having trouble staying awake. If he falls asleep when he’s at Marcel’s, Marcel will carry him to bed and get in beside him. He’ll wake Dick up with a hearty breakfast and send him on his way. The food Marcel supplies him both in the evenings and mornings is a major help to keep focus, but it doesn’t restore Dick’s waning energy when every day requires a massive focus on learning new things and physical exertion. More and more often Dick starts drifting in the wasteland between sleep and wakefulness, losing focus when he’s with Marcel. The frustration and exhaustion make Dick snippy and sometimes mean. But Marcel had anticipated that and doesn’t take offense.

They're trying everything, circling through methods ranging from distraction to siphoning Marcel while he shuts his scent on and off. Dick's constantly on the verge of giving up if only to get a good night's sleep. But he's always been committed to his follies and this is no different.

It's nearly been three weeks and they're running out of time. He's sitting by Marcel's dinner table, drifting in and out of dreams and reality while Marcel talks and asks questions. Dick wants Marcel to go away and leave him alone. He just wants to sleep. He can barely keep his eyes open.

Marcel's voice is a drone coming from a long distance away despite him sitting diagonally right next to Dick. "You're in a room full of people. You've been arguing with them for forty minutes, trying to convince them to go with your suggestion. You're angry and think they're all dumb for not listening to you. You're polite and respectful in both your words and body language, but they can smell that you would rather throw them all in a storm drain and cover the lid with a boulder. No matter what you say you won't succeed. Good. Now release."

"This is useless. We're wasting our time," Dick grumbles.

"Oh? What are you feeling right now?"

"I _feel_ that you can go fuck yourself," Dick answers, prying his eyes open for the umpteenth time with no memory of closing them. 

Marcel's lips twitch in amusement, eyes sparkling. "Oh? That's not what I smell."

Annoyed, Dick sniffs himself. Suddenly, he's wide awake, sucking in a breath. "I did it!" He bounces off his chair and shouts victoriously, then does a couple of pirouettes, making Marcel laugh.

"You did. Now can you release?"

Turns out, no. He ends up having to siphon to unlock his scent again. But this time it's enough to simply siphon Marcel without double feedback. The rest of the night is spent trying to pinpoint what he did so he can do it again, but not before Marcel's milked Dick's gland with a spoon. Dick succeeds at hiding his scent again after several attempts, and discovers that siphoning a spoonful of his own secretion unlocks his scent as effectively as Marcel's did.

Dick had thought of hiding one's scent as a snail withdrawing into its shell, but it's more like the snail's feeler retracting a little when it bumps into something. With the remaining time Dick manages to find control over hiding his scent and finally figures out how to release it. By the time he ships out to Canada his control is far from perfect and he has a small jar of his own secretion on his person in case he gets stuck scentless while he practices. Soon, he’s good enough not to have to use it.

* * *

Dick starts out stationed at the worst front. He meets several of his pack members there. Amongst others, he meets Mal. It scares him because she’s working as a field medic, often rushing around the battlefield patching up soldiers on the fly during clashes. But, “Jed told me I can become a surgeon after the war if I want. Or a doctor. Either way, I’d be the first pack member in a long time who goes beyond being a simple field medic,” she says and beams at him. She’s put on a job that frequently demands she dodge bullets and literally collect guts from the ground to shove back in bellies, and she’s happy about it. She feels like she’s finally learning to do something that will be of use the next time her loved ones are dying. 

Dick doesn’t remain at the front line very long. His talents are wasted there and his superiors view it as a clerical error and send him to the mountain forests close to the American border instead.

They often hear that Union soldiers are inferior because they’re noseblind and don’t have primal abilities. It’s bullshit. The Union soldiers are inferior because they’re drafted against their will from conquered countries, speaking many languages and not receiving nearly enough training. This means that along the main front both America and the Union are basically throwing undertrained civilians at each other to die. 

The Union has units and companies to be feared, elite career soldiers who’ve had rigorous training and years of combat experience. Most of those are Russians, so Dick’s often sent to spy on them since he understands the language. They scare him very much because of their fierce belief in their cause. They see themselves as liberators, not invaders. They’ve got excellent scent-awareness despite not being able to smell their own trails. In many cases, they’re better at dosing themselves with scentblockers since they don’t rely on their noses to tell them when it’s time, but count the minutes, and therefore keep hidden even from people with an extraordinary sense of smell like Aiden. They’re very skilled trackers, reading tiny broken twigs on the ground like others read books. They’re good at camouflage too, and Dick learns a lot by stalking one of these units from the treetops. One time he gets stuck in the canopy of a large tree in the middle of their camp for days without a chance to get away unseen. He settles in, hoping they don't hear his stomach grumble. When they move on a few days later Dick's so stiff he nearly falls out of the tree, trying to climb down. He hurries back to find that he was presumed dead, but the intel he brings leads to one avoided ambush and a successful counter strike. The whole thing earns him a medal and a promotion to sergeant. He thinks it's undeserved. All he did was sit very still and listen to people talk. A lot of his life has been spent that way.

Just as much of a threat as the Union elite forces are the mercenary companies. Again, they consist of well-trained, experienced soldiers who work incredibly well as a team. They share the talents of the Union elite forces, except they’re solely Primals, so they come with good senses of smell and built-in weaponry like claws and fangs. Commonly, the members of a company come from the same country, but far from always. Often they’re specialists in one thing or another.

The Canadians fighting in the mountains aren't part of the Canadian army. Instead, they’re a bunch of local packs waging guerilla warfare on the Union and cooperating with both the American and Canadian armies. They’ve got several camps set up in the forest and mountains, bases for either army to use. The infantry come through the camps on their way to other places, or they could be stationed in the camps to help with the guerilla warfare, often fighting the mercenary companies that are as adept as they are at the cat and mouse game. 

Dick gets stationed at one of these camps located in a mountain pass. The camp is on the Shurley pack’s territory and a large number of Shurleys are in the camp at all times. They’ve got an infirmary that’s fairly advanced, and they have a stock of blood for transfusions, which Dick finds interesting since it wasn’t that long ago he read that scientists were trying to figure out how to do just that. Science moves fast in wartime.

He was originally meant only to lead a squad, but is instead set aside to be used as a resource for the army as troops pass through. Often he gets to interrogate prisoners and interpret, or he’s sent on solo stealth missions. Dick never uses the scentblockers he’s given, only pretends to while using his innate ability. Instead, he hoards them or trades them. He’s secretly amused that scentblockers are so insanely expensive, traded one to one for a roll of soft toilet paper. When he’s sent to patrol or scout while leading a squad, he’s rarely given the same people each time, getting to know a lot of people. He tries to adapt his speech and body language to those he leads or talks to. Once again, he’s just doing what he always did on the streets, but it gains him trust and respect. He makes use of a neat trick Marcel taught him that he's just starting to become skilled enough to use. He switches his scent on and off in rapid-fire. That makes his feelings appear muted. Instead of smelling like he's about to throw fists he smells a little annoyed, for instance. He's not _quite_ fast enough when he does the rapid-fire on/off, so sometimes someone will give him a confused look then give themselves a shake. But it earns him a reputation of remaining calm even in dire situations.

Overall, he’s surprisingly content being in the army in the middle of a brutal war. He has moments when he feels traumatized, sure. When his squad is caught in an ambush and only three out of the eight of them make it back to camp alive. When they come upon a big pile of severed heads and he recognizes one of the heads as someone he’d gone through Bootcamp with. And more and more often when he sees the symbol of the star or hears the Light invoked.

But the best thing about being stationed in the Shurley camp is that his own pack is here. Not en masse, but they frequently come through. Jed and Sean more often than the others. Laurent too, since he’s constantly triangulating between three pack camps. Even bumping into Williamses he barely recognizes except by scent bond brings a sense of relief and happiness, and he’s greeted like a long lost friend by all of them. He’s yet to run into Mar or Aiden, but from what he hears of their whereabouts it’s only a matter of time until they end up here.

He’s nearly forgotten the main reason he once considered joining the army. Unfortunately, he gets a brutal reminder. It happens with the worst timing when there are no other Williamses in camp. He’s forced to make a hard choice. Except, to him, it’s not a hard choice at all…

* * *


	23. Loyal Deserter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who would have thought the war would bring out the best of Dick? Not Dick, that's for sure. But deep in the forests of Canada, he's thriving. He's got friends, is well respected and trusted by privates and officers alike. Of course he worries about his mates and the rest of the pack, but aside from that, there are no clouds on his horizon. ....Until there is.

* * *

Dick climbs down from the tree and gives the signal. Bear gives him the thumbs up and signals a ‘Go go go!’ to the other Sappers before taking off, running crouched down toward the building. Dick watches with interest as the Sappers set up the explosives. By now he’s seen it so often he could probably do it in his sleep. The bombs these guys are working with are a whole lot more powerful and complicated than the explosives they learned to handle at Bootcamp. The Sappers, engineering troops, have a lot of additional training. Most of them are combat veterans, not taken out of the drafted lot, with a few exceptions based on civilian jobs and education. They’re often sent in to sabotage Union camps, and Dick’s frequently sent with them to scout and see if he can find something of interest before they blow shit up.

Bear reminds him of Toivo so much it hurts. It’s always an especially jarring thought, since he can’t remember ever having met someone named Toivo. Yet he knows the differences between Bear and the mysterious Toivo. Both are big, built like bears, and both don’t talk much with words but are regular chatterboxes in primal. The difference is that Dick’s strange memory of Toivo, a man he’s never met, didn’t talk much because he didn’t speak English very well, while Bear, a former farmer/hunter from Utah that enlisted two decades ago, doesn’t speak much because he’s got a lisp and the squeakiest voice to ever come from someone who’s passed his kithood.

Bear is the ultimate Primal. One time he and Dick had been taken by surprise by a squad of mercs. They only had a few seconds to hide. Bear had simply pulled his shirt off, curled into a ball and pelted, while Dick shimmied up a tree. One of the mercs had passed four feet away from Bear and not seen him, mistaking the mottled greyish black ball with a few reddish stripes for a boulder. “I run, like, 12 feet an hour,” Bear had told him jokingly afterward. “I’ve learned to make up for it.” It wouldn’t have worked if Bear hadn’t been wearing scentblockers, but going on sight alone he sure can hide.

It amuses Dick that the best person at camouflage is a giant of a man. Not just because he, like Dick, is fortunate enough to have an excellent pelt color, but also creating personal camo from bushes, moss, and clay. Sometimes you can be standing next to him, smell that you’re standing next to him, and still not see him.

The Sappers come running back, Conway unrolling the detonation string as he runs, and Dick shimmies back up the tree to look around. After everyone’s come back, they look to Dick for the all-clear again, waiting for him to come down. He climbs down, nods, and watches Conway connect the string to the detonator. Charon does a countdown from three on his fingers, they all crouch down, cover their ears, close their eyes, and Conway flips the switch.

The world turns red when the sudden bright light penetrates Dick’s eyelids. Dick opens his eyes to watch the large, burning mushroom cloud, just in time to see one explosion after another in the weapons cache. He’s filled with equal dread and awe seeing the chaos. These missions always leave him shaken, reminding him of being a kit hidden in a nook or cranny, hoping the Union bombs from above wouldn’t hit too close to him. The squad of Sappers he’s most often assigned to work with rarely have people as their main target, though. They destroy bridges, train tracks, warehouses, weapons caches. Certainly, people are killed in these missions, but the main objective is to disarm, starve, redirect, or block the enemy.

Charon grins when they’re once again able to hear. “They had so many explosives in there we barely had to use our own,” he says and holds up his visibly bulging backpack. “Even stole some. We’ll be going home with more than we came with.”

Dick sniggers. Charon used to be a thief before he enlisted years ago. He’s still a thief, and if you want to do some black-market trading, he’s one of your go-to men. He always makes sure there’s a nice stash of toilet paper for Dick to trade his scent blockers for. It’s soon time to do a new trade with him. Dick’s backpack is filled to the brim with them. Not today. When they get back they’ll celebrate. The Sappers are always riled up when they’ve gotten to blow shit up.

They make it back to camp, tired, hungry, but happy. “You want me to take your bag to storage so you can go celebrate?” Dick offers Charon.

“ _Eey._ You know it, Sarge,” Charon grins and hands over the heavy bag filled with explosives, then claps a hand to Dick’s shoulder in goodbye to go follow his squad. Dick knows which corner to put Charon’s things in. The officer responsible for storage knows to ‘forget’ to keep track of that corner. Tomorrow Charon will come by and sort his stolen explosives and Dick will be rewarded with either toilet paper, chocolate, or any other of the goods that Dick likes to get his hands on, solely for not ratting Charon out.

On his way to storage, Dick’s intercepted. “Hey, Sarge!” 

“Ashbury,” Dick greets the Alpha and shoves the heavy backpack into the Alpha’s arms, knowing Ashbury will happily carry it for him while they talk.

“So, I noticed nobody in your pack is currently here…” Ashbury starts, obediently carrying the backpack.

“Uh-huh,” Dick answers. He already knows where this is going.

“I was thinking, I’ve managed to secure an extra pillow and blanket, and you Packrunners don’t like to sleep alone, so…”

“Cute. No, I mean it. Cute,” Dick answers dryly and arches an eyebrow at Ashbury. Ashbury’s technically a Conservative, having been raised as one. But he’s hardly a praying man and thinks the doctrines are only meant to be adhered to if it suits him. “You should save that for your Truemate.”

“How do I know who my Truemate is if I don’t try several out? Maybe you’re my Truemate,” Ashbury argues.

“And my other mates are of no concern to you, I suppose?” Dick humors him.

“Pfft. You’d only have to dodge them for a year for the bonds to fade,” Ashbury says and winks.

Dick snorts and takes the backpack back. “Get out of here, Ashbury, before I volunteer you to dig latrines.”

Ashbury grins. “Yes, Sir,” he says with a sloppy salute and leaves, no doubt to go needle any of the camp’s other Os to share his bed. He’s harmless, and never insubordinate while on duty, so Dick will put up with a little flirting. By now it’s more a friendly game than Ashbury actually thinking he stands a chance.

Dick greets the storage guards, getting an affectionate temple rub from Leia Shurley. “You playing poker with us tonight, Roman?”

“We’ll see. I’ll have to go give my report and see if I have new assignments waiting. Besides, what’s the point? It’d go much faster if you’d just rob me the old fashioned way,” he jokes. As often as he’s played poker here in camp he absolutely sucks at it.

“That’d be harder and probably end with you skimming us for a change,” Leia sniggers.

Dick smirks smugly. “You know me too well, dear,” he says then goes to drop off Charon’s bag. He puts his own beside it, knowing Charon won’t touch it and that no one else will either, effectively hiding his stock of scentblockers.

He goes to make a report. The officer on duty, Lieutenant Markheimer, smells tired and troubled. He listens to Dick's report and sighs afterward. "At least something went right today. We nearly captured a squad of mercs, but then a single merc swept in and freed them, killing two Shurleys while he was at it. At least they captured him. But they seem more set on revenge than getting something useful out of him. I swear, pack politics…" he makes a frustrated gesture. For the most part, things flow smoothly. But here in the guerilla camps, the pack whose territory it is often claimed rank or picked and chose what military officers to listen to. Markheimer is Conservative. They don't give a rat's ass what he thinks if it clashes with their wants.

"I'll swing by and see if I can get something useful out of him," Dick offers.

"Do that. But get some food in you first. I can smell that you’re hungry."

"Yes, Sir." Dick pauses, wondering if that's the only thing that troubles Markheimer. "Have you gotten any news from back home?"

Markheimer shifts, suddenly smelling both happy and sad. "I got a letter from my mate. I'm now the father of a healthy kitty-girl," he says proudly. "I can't wait for this stupid war to be over so I can go home to meet her. Oh, and speaking of mates? The Major and your Patriarch are on their way. We're expecting them here around noon tomorrow,” he says giving Dick a smile.

Dick chirps happily and straightens his back. “Thank you, Lieutenant.” There’s no need for Markheimer to tell him that Sean and Jed are coming. Technically, it’s none of his business what officers are coming or leaving camp. Markheimer is just throwing him a bone, showing him trust. It’s a bit funny to Dick that Sean outranks Jed, officially, but in camps like this a Conservative General could shout himself blue and people would still look to Jed for confirmation of the General’s orders. It had come as a surprise to Dick that Packrunners from other packs that knew other Williamses, viewed Dick as the highest-ranking Williams core O currently in the field. He’s got no idea how that happened.

“Don’t mention it. Now, dismissed.” Markheimer waves his hand dismissively with one last tired smile. 

Dick salutes and leaves him to go eat. He makes his way through camp, occasionally stopping to chat, dole out simple orders, ask someone to check if there’s anyone who needs letters written or read tonight, asking someone else to check in on a squadmate who’s been on edge, small everyday things he does without a thought. The mess tent is mostly empty but Dick instantly spots his least favorite person in the whole camp. It goes to show common interests don’t necessarily generate friendship. Dick detests the guy, who’s been away from camp for a few weeks. He gets a bowl of the questionable-looking stew that he knows tastes surprisingly good, and goes to take a seat by the guy, clipping his scent on and off as rapidly as he can to hide his feelings of dislike. “Hey, Chuck. Where’s your sister?”

“Huh? Oh, ah, Roman, was it? She’s sleeping,” Chuck Shurley half-stutters in his awkwardly charming way and smiles. Chuck’s a newly presented O who’d been unable to wander due to the invasion, so he’s stuck around defending his birth pack’s territory. His sister’s an Alpha named Amara. When they were little kits, they decided that they were gonna get mated when they grew up. Chuck, like most kits, grew out of that idea. His sister didn’t. They’re as codependent as Aid and Mar, but unlike Aid and Mar, they leave no room for anyone else in their bubble. It’s a shame. Dick likes Amara when she’s separated from her brother.

“Mmh. I heard you lost two members?”

“Ah, yes. Loeb and Desi. A shame,” Chuck says and looks sad without the sadness reaching his eyes or scent. “But we took the bastard who did it. He’s currently paying for what he did.”

Dick thinks he’s probably sadder about Desi dying than Chuck is. He tries to be nice and sociable even if he doesn’t like certain people. One day his life might depend on them. But something about Chuck just rubs him the wrong way. To be fair, Dick’s the one who set off the animosity between them. He’d seen Chuck writing and asked about it. Chuck had let him read the first part of the book. The dialogue in the story was brilliant, witty and sarcastic. But the rest? Rubbish. Plus the only relatable character got killed off in chapter two. Chuck wanted to know what Dick thought, so Dick had started telling him, noticing that Chuck was shuttering up, he backpedaled by saying, ‘It doesn’t matter what I or anyone else thinks. If it makes you happy to write and you’re not planning to get it published, it’s great.’ Whelp. Apparently, Chuck thinks his writing is brilliant and absolutely plans to publish it. Dick said ‘Not every story is for everyone. I’m sure there are people out there for which your particular story is the best they’ve ever read.’ But Chuck thinks his stories _are_ for everyone and that there’s something wrong with the readers if they don’t like it. Dick thinks Chuck is an idiot. It got worse when he saw that Chuck sometimes got excited about bad things happening, as if he saw it as something to draw inspiration from for his stories, and only put on a mask of empathy that dropped off as soon as he thought he was out of sight, shifting into indifference. Dick swears Chuck lives for drama around him.

Dick makes stilted small talk while wolfing down his chow, then leaves Chuck to find the prisoner.

He can hear the screams of agony on this side of the camp. He personally isn’t a fan of torture as a way of getting people to talk. Too much torture will get a prisoner to say anything, often lying their asses off. Not to keep secrets, but to find the right answers their torturers want just so the pain will stop. Dick’s preferred angle is ‘I want to help you, but I can’t if you don’t tell me what you know.’ Mostly, isolating the prisoner then sitting down to talk to them after they’ve gotten no food or sleep for a few days does the trick. Dick usually talks about anything just to get them talking. Once they do, he’ll slowly nudge them in the right direction. He doubts he’ll be able to do that now. The Shurleys have proven to be very vindictive and care about zero percent for getting info.

When he’s close to the infirmary he catches the scent and stops dead. Years have gone by since he’d pressed that handkerchief to his nose while looking at Laurent’s dopey smile. He knows it’s the prisoner. It can’t be anyone else because Swedish mercenaries working for the Union have no other business in camp. It’s definitely Arvid. “ **FUCK!** ”

A soldier coming out of the infirmary sucks in a startled breath. “Everything alright, Sarge?” she asks uncertainly.

“It’s fine, Private Henderson. Something I forgot to do, it’s all,” Dick answers and makes a be-on-your-way gesture. He waits until Henderson has gone out of sight to hide behind a tree, press his hands over his face and have an internal meltdown. It takes several minutes for him to calm down enough to be able to appear calm and collected. He still feels like he’s going to throw up. It’s a good thing war is such an awful situation in general. Everyone smells tired, scared, anxious, angry, and stressed to some degree or another, so his heightened anxiety level won’t raise any eyebrows.

It’s a real feat not to run towards the tent where they’re keeping the prisoner. He tries walking at his usual pace, stopping to talk to people, throwing a friendly wave to others, doing his best not to show he has an emotional stake in the well-being of the prisoner he’s heading for.

More screams come from the tent, followed by sobbed breaths. By some miracle, Dick doesn’t twitch and grimace, instead, he gives the Shurley guards a friendly nod as he nears the tent.

“Hey, Roman. Come to see if you can milk something useful out of this one?” one of them says with a smirk.

“Good luck with that. He’s a talker alright. Just doesn’t say anything useful. You wouldn’t by any chance know where Phu Quoc is located?” the other one says. At Dick’s blank face, he chuckles. “No? Me neither. But according to him, the water there is bright blue and crystal clear, full of rainbow-colored fishes. There are fishes shaped like bellows, that are as brightly yellow as maple leaves in fall.” Inside, Arvid screams again. The second guard grimaces, humor deserting him. “Man, I’m not cut out for this crap. I thought we should just kill him and be done with it.”

“He killed Desi and Loeb,” the first guard says to the second. “He deserves everything he gets, Harry.”

“Whatever. I never liked hurting anyone and I’m not about to start now,” the second guard, Harry, says to his companion and holds the tent flap open for Dick. Dick steps inside, content to let the pair argue about what it means to be a decent human being, and looks around to take stock of the situation. There are four people in there aside from Arvid - Chantal, Jericho who’s Desi’s widowed mate, Bernard, and Maebel. The stench of their rage is as strong as Arvid’s fear and pain. Arvid himself is tied up on a table, only wearing underwear. His feet are a mess. Dick guesses someone took a club or a sledgehammer to them. His face is crusted in blood, eyes swollen shut, nose broken and bleeding, shards in his cheeks. A quick glance shows he’s been sharded in his fingers too, but thankfully not his toes. Shards are metal spikes inserted to make shifting so painful it’s impossible to do it without passing out. His body’s full of bruises, burns, and small injuries. It looks like they’re trying to cause as much pain as possible while still keeping him alive. There are no maiming injuries or broken bones aside from his feet, and no injury that will risk him bleeding to death anytime soon.

“What have we got so far?” Dick asks when the torturers notice him.

“Oh. Hey, Roman. Nothing. He’s just described a bunch of places," Jericho answers.

"Do we have a name?"

"No," Chantal says. "You gonna give it a go?"

Dick nods. They step aside to give him space. It's not his status in the military that they defer to, but his rank within his pack. He walks up to the table where Arvid's tied and gently puts his hand on Arvid's belly. Arvid instantly tenses up, expecting pain, not gently dancing fingertips. “This is not a very efficient way to get information,” Dick says in a formal tone.

“Who cares? The bastard killed Desi,” Jericho growls.

“I care. In fact, I care very much,” Dick says, keeping his voice kind and calm while clipping his scent on and off. He smells anxious and distressed, maybe even more so than usual, but not nearly enough to arouse suspicion. “The mercenary companies are the biggest threat to my loved ones since my pack is mostly located in the places where they operate. Like these mountains. You might not care if anyone else loses a mate, but…” he says and raises a pointed eyebrow. Jericho angrily averts his gaze, acute mourning overtaking the rage in his scent.

“The mercs are impossible to get to talk anyway,” Maebel says defensively, scent tinted in a mix that alludes to shame in her anger.

“Ah. Not true, dear,” Dick says. “They’re notoriously hard to get to talk. But they do talk. Mostly, they’ll only give up tiny tidbits of information. Over time those tidbits build up and we can put them together to something useful. The places he described, where were they located?”

“Nowhere around here so it’s irrelevant,” Maebel states, chin up defiantly.

Dick pins her with his most expressionless stare under heavy eyelids and flares, non-verbally saying ‘that’s up to me to decide’.

“Foo kwok, Nassos, Malmoe, Tubingen, and he spent a strangely long time describing a bug he’d seen in Konya, but unlike the other descriptions he gave us, he only talked about the bug and the dust on it,” Chantal answers, looking at him with anticipation. She’s assisted Dick once during an interrogation and has greater insight into how his mind works.

“Thank you, Chantal. From that, we can rule out five specialist mercenary companies. We can also with fairly good certainty guess that he’s a European, and, I would go so far as to say he’s been a prisoner of the Union, kept in the labor camp in Konya. That rules out two more mercenary companies.”

“Why would he fight for the Union if he’s been a prisoner of them?” Maebel asks with a disgusted look at Arvid.

“Many mercs are Packrunners who’ve had their packs and mates butchered in the war. The leaders of most mercenary companies are strong Os and Alphas with the air of Mains and Patriarchs. They come along, find these wreckages of human beings, recognize the tenacious spirits deep within the shell, and snag them up to bring them back to life. The result is a bunch of mercs that work for their commanders with relentless self-sacrifice and loyalty. They don’t work for the Union, they get paid by them. A missed payment or two and they can turn around and bite the hand that neglected to feed them, then skip to the next country and take hire for the Union there instead. Or anyone willing to pay them really. Both Canada and America have a no-merc policy, though,” Dick explains, fingers dancing soothingly over Arvid’s skin. He thinks this should be general knowledge. None of these things are secret. But in an effort to dehumanize the enemy the knowledge isn’t widely talked about. The governments want mercs and Unionists to be hated equally, and don’t want people to question why they simply don’t outbid the Union for the mercenaries’ services.

“Why would the Union hire the same mercs that turned on them, but in another country?” Bernard asks with reluctant curiosity.

“The Union is big, dear. Every front has different commanders who don’t necessarily communicate. One hand doesn’t know what the other is doing.” Dick makes a dismissive gesture, declaring he’s had enough of teaching them. He focuses on Arvid, slowly walking along the table up to Arvid’s head, trailing his fingers over Arvid’s heaving chest, then bends down closer to Arvid’s head, starting up a soothing purr. “Hello, dear. I’m Richard, a Sergeant in the United States Army. I’m here to ask you a couple of questions. Can you hear me?”

Arvid takes a couple of rapid breaths, then, “Mhm.”

“Good. Do you know why you’re in this situation?”

“War,” Arvid answers then whines because talking jars the shards in his cheeks, hurting him.

Dick gestures at a folding chair in the corner and Chantal jumps to get it for him, placing it behind him. Dick sits down and lets his fingers trail over Arvid’s blood crusted scalp, assessing the damage by looking for bumps and cuts he can’t see in the matted, blond hair. He tries to be gentle about it but has to push a bit harder in places where he finds bumps, just to see how much damage has been done. “Technically, that is true. The war is why you were captured. But it’s not why you’re in this particular situation. The shards and pointless torture are due to something else. The people that captured you are part of the pack who owns the territory you’re on. They’re not part of the official army. They’re defending their home and their kits, and you killed two of them. Do you understand the difference?”

“Mhm,” Arvid answers.

“Good. Then you also know, as a representative of the US Army, my influence right now is limited. I want to help you―”

Arvid and Jericho snort with the same skepticism at the same time. 

Dick smirks. Inside, he’s still so distressed he wants to throw up, mind going a mile a minute to figure out how to get Arvid out of here before it’s too late. “Not out of the goodness of my heart, of course,” he says, trying to sound amused. “I want to help you because I want you to give me information. My pack is out there and I want as many of them as possible to come back alive.” Since he already knows Arvid’s a Packrunner, he goes for that angle. He wouldn’t have, if he didn’t already know that. “What I _can_ do, is give you a respite. Stop the torture for a little while. It’s not much. But until my Patriarch and his Second come here tomorrow, there’s nobody here with the authority to negotiate anything more than that. You understand the structure of pack hierarchy?”

“Mhm.”

Dick’s fingers dance over Arvid’s forehead, his soothing purr a constant backdrop. It’s having an effect. Arvid’s fear is dropping, easing his pain somewhat. “Good. I’m going to propose a deal. If you give me one fact, one single fact that can be useful for the safety of both my own pack and the pack that captured you, you’ll be left alone for two hours. Two hours of nobody hurting you or taunting you. Like I said, it’s not much, but I can make it happen.” Arvid’s face is such a mess that it’s impossible to read. His eyes are swollen shut, blood and bruises hiding muscle twitches. Dick looks up at the four Shurleys. “You. I want you to promise me on your pack’s honor to give this man two hours alone in here if he gives us a fact that is helpful to us. Nobody touching him and nobody standing outside to taunt him or throw projectiles from afar. I want you to promise me to give him two hours of respite, and to ensure he gets that respite by making sure others keep their distance too.”

The Shurleys exchange glances. Chantal and Bernard speak at the same time. “We promise.” Jericho doesn’t look happy about it, but he nods. It doesn’t matter. All Dick needed was for one of them to promise. None of them reformulated the promise to create loopholes, which is good. Being around Mar and Jed, Dick’s learned how important that is. He’s not sure he himself managed to think of all loopholes. He asked them to leave Arvid alone and to guard against anyone, pack member or not, trying to break the respite.

“You hear that?” Dick says to Arvid. “Give me one fact, and you’ll get a break from the torture. If you don’t, I’ll walk away, leaving you in the hands of the Alpha whose mate you killed, and I won’t return until tomorrow when my Patriarch’s here. Believe me when I say, in your situation, two hours makes a lot of difference. One fact, it’s all I’m asking.” Dick holds his breath and waits.

Arvid’s chest heaves and seconds tick by. Dick’s never been a fan of sharding. Especially not with a prisoner that’s this subdued. It’s a common practise in the Union, and often ordered by Prog officers in the US army since it prevents prisoners from dropping fangs if they bite. But if you’re trying to get people to talk, facial sharding is counter-productive. They cause too much pain when the prisoner moves their lips to speak. It’s more than enough to shard fingers to prevent prisoners from cutting their ropes with their claws.

“See? He’s not going to talk, so you might as well leave us to it,” Maebel says snidely. 

“Uh-uh,” Dick says and holds up a finger, flare intensifying. “You sharded his cheeks, effectively punishing him for trying to obey. Give him a minute to muster up the courage to self-harm enough to answer,” Dick tells her.

She twists her lips in dissatisfaction but remains in place.

A few seconds more, then Arvid finally speaks. “The Demon will get yuh…” He whimpers in pain directly afterward.

Dick stands up, glad that his sudden fear doesn’t translate to his scent. He knew a lot about Arvid already but not that he belonged to the Demon’s company. “Thank you. I’ll now see to it that my side of the deal is upheld.”

“What? He didn’t say anything! He cursed you! How’s that useful?” Jericho protests, agitated.

“Not at all, dear. He told us what company he’s with. The Demon is a commander. He’s mentioned as a ghost story and the Unionists are afraid of him. They don’t believe he’s human at all. More interesting for us is what we already know about this company. They’re somewhere between 100 to 400 people. They’re not specialists but have specialist subdivisions. They come from all over the world, including America. All of them are Primals but Packrunners are in majority. They operate according to Packrunning codes of conduct and honor. But most importantly, they don’t leave anyone behind, regardless of rank. We can expect to be attacked by them within a week, either to free the prisoner or to seek revenge. The cruelty they’ll show us will equal what we’ve shown the prisoner. I’d say all of this is useful information.” 

Maebel sneers at Arvid. “Then we should get going to make it worth it,” she says and takes a step towards Arvid, grabbing a knife from a rickety table. Jericho hits her hard on the upper arm. “Ouch! What? It’s not like anyone will care about a promise given to a damned merc.”

“We didn’t promise the merc, we promised Roman,” Jericho scolds. “And I, for one, don’t want to become an oathbreaker and start another pack war.”

“Fine,” Maebel says and drops the knife back on the table.

“Not fine,” Jericho says angrily and grabs Maebel by the arm to start tugging her to the exit. “We’re going straight to Elise. Nobody wants to hurt the merc more than I, but you so easily resort to oath-breaking―” they leave the tent, their voices fading as they walk.

Bernard goes outside to inform the guards of the promise. Chantal talks to Arvid, telling him he’ll have his two hours of peace now, so Dick leaves.

His head is reeling, spinning with panicked thoughts. This was not how he’d imagined his first meeting with the O he’d planned to have as his Main when he still thought he would present as an Alpha. Arvid’s currently not dying, but when they come back for him… a lot of small wounds, cuts, burns… it’ll add up and he’ll die from blood loss or shock. On top of it, chances are, the warning Arvid gave is legit. Dick, in his position as an interrogator and interpreter, has some inside knowledge. It’s happened before, the Demon’s men getting captured, the camp holding them obliterated, or, if the prisoner was well cared for, only one or two guards dying in the rescue. Some of those stories were rather spooky. Two squads reporting having captured a merc only to suddenly stop responding to radio communications. Once the squads were found, they were all dead without a single sign of struggle or a wound on their bodies. Poison gas to blame for sure, but how was the merc extracted alive then? It’s not something Dick wants to find out by demonstration. Especially not with Williamses, _his mates_ , headed for camp right at this very moment.

24 hours is a long time to wait for someone in Arvid’s position. Laurent and Mar both love him. Dick would be a lousy mate and friend if he just sat on his ass waiting for Jed and Sean to come here and fix it. What if they get held up? What if the pack negotiations take too long and the Demon and his company descend on all of them? What if, what if, what if?

Dick looks around the camp. There are many people he cares for here. Especially Bear. But nobody currently in camp compares to Laurent and Mar, and both of them love Arvid. That means Arvid’s life is the most important in camp right now. Dick needs to save him.

Dick can’t just grab Arvid and bring him out of the camp. Arvid’s messed up feet prevent him from walking, and Dick can only carry heavy weights for short distances at a time. He needs a diversion. Something that gives him a little more time to get Arvid out.

In the distance, he can see Bear, Charon, Conway, and the other Sappers walking to the barrack tent they sleep in, happy from a job well done, and most likely planning to take a nap before using the evening for some heavy celebrations.

It gives Dick an idea.

It’s a mad idea, making his gut churn from a bad conscience. He looks from the barrack-tent where the Sappers are heading, then in the direction of the storage tent. It can’t be seen from here so it should be far enough to be safe, shouldn’t it? He sure hopes so…

* * *

Three times already Dick thought his heart would stop in fright when someone came into the storage tent. A million things could go wrong. This might not work at all. He thought he’s seen the Sappers set up explosives often enough, but actually doing it himself has his brain screaming ‘ _WHAT THE HELL AM I DOING???_ ’ The detonation ‘string’, for instance, is electrical wiring. Dick’s from a world where electricity is a luxury and few have insight into how it works. So Dick hides Charon’s explosives around the storage tent, trying to find places where they’ll ignite flammables or other explosives, praying to every god he can think of, aside from the One, that nobody will discover the badly hidden strings around the space. Then he proceeds to have a minor meltdown, trying to get all the strings to connect to the box with the little lamp that needs to glow for all the bombs to be connected to one detonator. He’s not particularly worried about accidentally setting the bombs off. He’ll die if that happens, but he’ll die making an effort to do right by his loved ones, and that’s more important to him. What does worry him, is how long it’s taking. Finally, the little lamp turns green so he can connect the long string to it. He’ll need it for remote detonation. He frets about how the hell he’s going to hide the string on the ground all the way back to Arvid’s tent.

Then he thinks that maybe he doesn’t have to worry about that at all.

One thing about this camp that’s to Dick’s advantage, is how well camouflaged it is from above. It has large open spaces, sure, but to hide it from helicopters and airplanes flying above the mountain pass, a lot of the large evergreens and maples have been kept intact. In many places, large camo nets made from fabric have been suspended like a fake canopy roof, and there’s lots of electrical wiring crisscrossing overhead to not be in the way.

Climbing the closest tree unseen then jumping from one tree to another or simply throwing the string and climbing up after it without anyone noticing takes far too long for Dick’s taste. Once when he’s thrown the roll of string a larger distance, the roll ends up too low and the string hangs head high. Before he can climb up the next tree, a soldier, Dawson, walks right into it and heads for the tree to fix it. She picks up a stick and tries to jump, poking the string to make less slack. Stunned for a beat, Dick hurries over there. “I’ve got it, Dawson. I’ll climb up and fix it,” he offers with a smile. 

“Thanks, Sarge,” Dawson answers with a grin. “I swear, sometimes I think the camp will fall over in the slightest breeze,” she jokes and walks away.

Dick’s once again ready to throw up from anxiety. But Dawson’s right. With all the wiring crisscrossing already, it isn’t out of place to put up a new one or better the position of an old one.

The next time the distance between trees is too great for him to jump, Dick climbs down and calls a Private over. “I need help getting this from here to there. I’m going to climb up there, and I want you to throw this up to me on my signal.”

“Sure, Sarge.”

That easy.

Dick repeats the trick a few times, hoping there’s no difference between normal string and bomb string. And if there is, he hopes none of his “helpers” will know it. Once someone asks what they’re installing but Dick answers “I was ordered to climb to get this from point A to B. I didn’t question it so I don’t know.”

The Private shrugs and accepts the answer without any signs of finding it suspicious.

The string miraculously lasts all the way across the camp with several loops to spare. Dick connects the string to the detonator, climbs out of the tree behind Arvid’s tent, and hides the detonator in the bushes.

Dick’s got 15 minutes to spare. He walks back to the storage, this time openly, greets the guards and tells them he’s just going to grab his bag. He gets it and walks back towards Arvid’s tent. He’s stopped by Staff Sergeant Bekins, who with worried eyes asks if he’s alright, putting a friendly hand on his shoulder.

Hiding his emotions is all good and well, but Bekins has a nose on par with Aiden’s so no clip-clip-clipping his scent on and off can hide Dick’s nerves and inner turmoil. “No, actually. I keep getting flashbacks of the time I nearly died. So I’m going to find a tree to get some solitude out of sight from the Privates. They don’t need to know their Sergeant struggles with PTSD.”

Bekins nods, eyes full of understanding. “It’s rough, isn’t it? I have my moments too. If you ever need to talk, you know where to find me.”

Dick hopes Bekins won’t be too close to the explosion. He’s a good man.

After making sure no one’s looking, Dick enters Arvid’s tent from behind. He stands dead still to listen for several seconds then goes to crouch down by Arvid’s head. “Hey…” he whispers as quietly as he can. “I’m here to save you. I’ll cut the ropes, create a diversion, and carry you out of here. I know you’re in a lot of pain and it’s―” Dick stops talking, hearing voices passing by outside. He waits a few seconds after they’ve gone. “It’s going to hurt like hell to be carried. I need you to be as quiet as you possibly can no matter how much it hurts. Do you understand?”

Quietly, so quiet Dick barely hears it, Arvid answers, “Mhm.”

“Good. We don’t have much time, be ready,” Dick whispers. Arvid makes another quiet sound of understanding. Dick takes his knife and makes short work of cutting the ropes. “Lie still,” he instructs, “I’m going to create a diversion. I’ll be back in a second.”

Dick darts to the back of the tent, lifts the bottom half to peek around for watchers, then goes for the detonator hidden in the bushes four feet away. He holds his breath, sends a prayer to Donarrion that everything’s working and nobody found his bombs and disconnected the string, then flips the switch. There’s a two-second delay where he sags, thinking he’s failed, then― 

**BOOM!!!**

The explosion is massive. A huge burning cloud reaching well above the treetops at the other end of the camp, burning debris flying, trees splintering, toppling, the sound of other smaller explosions, people screaming, running both towards and away from the chaos. The tent bends from the force of the shockwave, flapping in the wind for a few beats before it rights itself. A few tents weren’t that lucky, flying haphazardly as their tethering ropes come loose or snap. Dick curses under his breath, jarred and shocked, grabs his backpack and dives back into the tent.

Arvid’s still there. The table has moved and all the folding chairs have fallen. The table with the knives and pokers has tipped over. Arvid’s nose bleeds with renewed force and he’s got a new gash on his chin. “Sorry about that,” Dick whispers. “I’m not a Sapper. It was meant to be a little ‘boom - oh no’, not… _that_.”

Arvid’s lips twitch, air coming out of his nose in quick little huffs. Dick thinks he’s crying until he notes the thread of happiness mixed with the pain and terror in his scent. He’s laughing, trying not to. 

Laurent _did_ say Arvid found humor even in the darkest situations. “I’m going to dose you in scentblockers, put my bag on my front, then help you sit up so I can carry you on my back,” Dick informs him before he gets to work. He worries about the sound from the spray can―a nifty new invention that’s far too loud for situations like this―but the cacophony outside covers it up. He drops the can and helps Arvid sit up. It’s a far too slow process for his liking. Just when Arvid’s sitting by himself, the tent flap opens, and someone steps inside.

Dick sucks in a startled breath, heart trying to hammer itself out of his breast cage.

Chuck Shurley stops dead when he sees them, still holding the flap open. “What are you doing?”

Think fast. Think fa― “They’re coming for him. We need to move him. Quick. I need your help. See over there?” Dick says and points outside, walking towards Chuck with brisk steps.

Confused, Chuck turns to look where Dick’s pointing. He shouldn’t have. Dick’s knife takes him in the throat. Chuck falls inward, dropping the flap and spurting blood on the rough canvas.

For a moment Dick stands still, feeling like the world shifted around him significantly. His gut burns with fierce vindictiveness that Chuck had done nothing to deserve.

Then reality comes crashing back in.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Dick curses under his breath and returns to Arvid. “I’m going to lift you now. Keep as quiet as you can, then pick a god and pray that we’ll make it out of here…”

* * *


	24. Donarrion's Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick's nothing if not dedicated to his follies. Like trying to bring Arvid to safety.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope all of y'all are safe and well. <3
> 
> And a shoutout to my awesome betas Lisa and Melina for helping me. <3

* * *

Dick’s exhausted. They’ve been on the run for maybe a week now, and he’s running on fumes. 

Arvid can barely use his hands, holding stuff like a squirrel in the fold between thumb and palm. He can't smell. He can't stand or walk. Well. He can. Long enough to full-body tackle someone when the need arose. He's tried to do it twice now, been successful once and missed by a good three feet once. Luckily, he'd provided enough of a distraction for Dick to take the guy out. Dick giggled about it several times that day. The soldier's face went from 'oh shit!' to 'what the hell?' when Arvid threw himself blindly beside the guy instead of on top of him. Arvid only had the sound to go on. It would have been even funnier if Arvid wasn't in so much pain.

You can’t pelt when sharded. Or, you can, but it risks setting off the morphcells around the shards, causing uncontrollable growth. The shockwave from Dick’s bombs had spread a lot of things in the perimeter of the camp, and Dick had managed to gather ragtag clothes and fabric to dress Arvid. If he hadn’t, the poor bastard would have frozen to death by now.

The swelling around Arvid's eyes is lessening. He can open his eyes to slits. It's no use after the sun has risen. His eye whites are red and swollen, so looking when it's too bright is painful for him, but at least he's seen Dick now. He can't chew. It jars the shards too much. So Dick resorted to chewing his rations and spitting them out to feed Arvid. He tried to remove the shards but they're stuck like stone and Arvid screamed too loud, so Dick gave up. He'll need help, or at least they’ll need to be somewhere Arvid can safely scream his lungs out.

Two days ago it started to snow. Dick's been covering Arvid with scentblockers now and then, but leaving tracks in the snow defeats any benefit from it. Dick got the idea to use ropes to swing Arvid from tree to tree so as not to leave tracks. He tied two ropes around Arvid's chest, climbed up with both ropes, attached one rope, jumped to the next tree to attach the other one higher, pulling so Arvid was dangling above the ground. Then he jumped back to untie the first rope. On his first try, he'd been pulled out of the tree when Arvid swung towards the next tree, nearly breaking his arm slamming into the snowcovered ground. The second try he hadn't pulled Arvid high enough so Arvid swung down to scrape the ground. Soon enough Dick got the hang of it, though, and they made better speed that way than when Dick carried Arvid (since Dick isn’t good at carrying heavy loads for large distances). Of course, there were occasional mishaps. Arvid would slam into a tree trunk with a pained yelp followed by equally pained laughter.

Arvid's good like that. He finds all their mishaps hilarious. When Dick carried him, he'd giggle every time Dick stumbled and nose-planted on the ground (every 100 yards or so), no matter how much it hurt them both.

They’re perched in the safety of a tree now. Dick’s perched, Arvid’s arranged over branches not to fall down, as per how Dick saw fit. "We're going to have to walk from here," Dick says with a troubled frown looking over a big strip of land with no trees. He can hear the river but not see it. It's there somewhere, out in the open. He can’t figure out why he can’t see it from up here in the tree.

"Whurr arr ee koing?" Arvid asks. Talking properly is painful for him so instead, he opens his mouth a tiny bit and only moves his tongue to talk. Dick understands what he says anyway, for the most part.

"To the river. We're moving too slowly. I figured I'd make us a raft or something."

"Unn den?"

"Home. I'm taking you home. It's the safest place I can think of. Or it was. I have no idea how I'll be greeted now that I've blown up half an allied pack. It doesn't matter. My mates will thank me for it."

Arvid sniggers. "Oaie?"

"Because they love you. They―" A dreadful thought hits Dick then, making him cold inside, heart leaping. "You _are_ Arvid Mattsson, right? You're not just someone who smells like him? Oh dear. If that's the case, I've made a terrible mistake."

Arvid pries his eyes open with a frown to squint at him in the bleak dawnlight. His eyes instantly start to water. "I'm Arvid. But now I'm suddenly very interested to know who you are, if you're not just some schmuck thinking you'll get rich selling me back to my company," he says, talking properly this time, with new bursts of pain in his scent with every mouth movement.

Dick scoffs in affront. "That's what you thought?"

Arvid shrugs the shoulder not hooked over a branch. "It's happened before."

Dick twists his lips. He can’t for the world imagine how anyone could be that stupid. "Very well. I'm Dick Roman, mated to Laurent Hale and Marlon Williams, third-ranking Omega in the Williams pack. Don't ask me how the rank happened, though. I've certainly never challenged anyone."

Arvid closes his eyes with a small smile, smelling happy. Dick can literally smell Arvid’s constant pain lessening. Maybe an introduction would have been in order long before now, but chatting had been put on the back burner during this last week of constant fear and vigilance, with frequent run-ins with soldiers from both sides.. They’ve managed to avoid getting spotted in most cases. As far as Dick knows, nobody’s tracking them. Looking for them? No doubt. But not tracking them. "Long Island it is then. Can I get a better room than last time? It was a bit drafty," Arvid jokes.

"I promise you, you won't be put in the dungeon this time," Dick answers, lips twitching in amusement.

* * *

Dick puts Arvid down in the snow beside a large shrub near the dropoff. Their tracks in the snow make him uncomfortable. He hasn’t seen or heard anyone for hours, but that doesn’t mean nobody’s out there. He’d made the troubling discovery that the reason he couldn’t see the river from the treeline is that it’s running through a canyon with a steep dropoff down to the water on both sides. The river’s deep here. He can see that, but the current is strong, making the dark surface swirl and dance. "Wait here. I'm going to see if there's a place for us to get down safely. It’ll be faster if I don’t tote you around while doing it,” Dick says. Arvid makes a sound of consent, crawls further into the bushes, rolls into a ball, and shoves snow over himself. This isn’t the first time Dick’s gone on short scouting missions without him. Dick takes a can of scentblockers to dose Arvid with. That gives him 20 minutes. He only has a few more cans left. It’s a worry for another day. If he can get them far enough downriver they’ll be safer. Since Arvid’s wearing ragtag American uniform pieces, maybe Dick can take him to a field hospital or a doctor on the American side and pretend Arvid’s American. Arvid would have to pretend he’s too traumatized to speak, but it should work.

Dick throws the empty can in the river and watches how fast it travels, then sets off at a ground-eating lope downstream.

It’s just more of the same until he comes to the slope at the end of the canyon where the river’s turning into shallow, dangerous rapids. From here he can see the river wind itself all the way down into a valley to finally slow down surrounded by flat land. It’s one hell of a walk, but Dick spots something else much more alarming in the distance, just beside the river - a Union camp. The soldier in him wants to report it, but he pushes the thought away. He turns around and heads back.

Nearing Arvid’s hiding place, he can smell he’s been gone far too long. Arvid’s scent is clear to any functioning nose. He curses inwardly and looks around. The sun’s up now, reflecting a vicious glare in the snow. Squinting, it’s still hard to see anything. Nothing moves aside from a little bird flying from one tree to another. It lands on a branch and starts preening. It’s a good sign. 

He hurries towards Arvid, whistling a bird call to announce himself. Arvid tweets an acknowledgment. He's barely visible in his hiding place. Dick crouches down in front of him. "Okay. So we'll need to travel for a bit. There's a Union camp downriver. I'll stash you in a tree and enter the camp to restock our provisions. I'll see if they have a boat or perhaps a horse or two. If they don't, I'll figure something out."

"Yull enteh derr cank?"

"Yes."

Arvid shifts, a note of distress in his scent, then pain when he moves his lips to talk properly. "Dick. I don't want to sound like a coward or question your decisions. But in case you haven't noticed, I'm completely dependent on you…"

Dick sniggers. "I have two main jobs in the military. Talking to prisoners to make them tell me things they shouldn't, and sneaking into enemy strongholds to sit under a table and listen to chatter, basically. A quick in and out is no problem."

"Sit under a table," Arvid says flatly. "Lovely."

"I know how to hide, dear. Sneaking into a camp to poke around unnoticed is a piece of cake as long as I don’t have to drag you along."

Arvid's quiet for a beat. "I'm sorry for your loss."

Dick frowns in confusion. "What loss?"

"I've noticed you only cover me with scentblockers. It's a short leap to understand why."

"Oh. Uh, can you promise not to tell anyone? But I―" A tiny creak in the snow behind Dick makes him turn his head. “ _Fuck!_ Incoming,” he hisses in warning, twists around dropping fangs, teething his teeth, clawing and flaring, heart pounding in fright. The man is 10 yards away and so well camouflaged that Dick might have missed him if it wasn’t for the dark glasses looking foreign in the setting. He’s sneaking fast, crouched down, putting his feet right in Dick’s footsteps, wearing a predominantly white winter uniform with scraggly grey and evergreen splotches and black-brown stripes. His face, feet, and hands are also white with grey, a black-grey, ringed, or spotted pattern. He’s got a holstered gun. There’s no way Dick and Arvid can escape up a tree fast enough out here in the open. Dick had abandoned his rifle days ago when he ran out of bullets so they’ve got no ranged weapons. Thinking fast, Dick thinks the only way they can get away unscathed, is if he manages to push the guy into the river canyon. He launches himself at the man.

Only when he attacks and the man flattens his ears back does Dick realize the guy’s fully pelted, and that his pelt blends in perfectly with the winter landscape where it covers his head, hands, and bare feet. The fur marks him as an American, a local, or a merc. Not that it matters - everyone’s an enemy to a deserter. The guy stands up to his full height when Dick charges, holding his hands ready. He’s got the biggest claws Dick’s ever seen, wicked and curved. Dick pulls his knife, has time to think ‘Oh shit!’ before he jumps up, aiming for the man’s shoulder and head, wanting to unbalance the guy and make him stumble so a hard shove will send him over the edge.

The guy’s sunglasses go flying when Dick impacts, but Dick’s weight barely causes more than a grunt. He’s so stable it’s like landing on a tree trunk. A sharp burning sensation in Dick’s arm makes him drop the knife and dive away in a roll behind the guy, putting some distance between them. Maybe he can lure the guy away from Arvid? The guy turns along with Dick, keeping Dick in front of him. He’s bleeding from four shallow gashes over his temple and cheeks where Dick got him with his claws, blood soaking into white fur. Dick chances a glance at his own wounded arm to see that the guy’s claws have sliced through Dick’s clothing and flesh like butter, but Dick can’t smell the blood blooming on the fabric. Interesting. What's more interesting is that he can't smell the blood on the enemy either, which must mean he isn't using scentblockers. Dick doesn’t have time to ponder the matter before the guy starts to advance menacingly, holding his clawed hands ready to swipe.

Dick backs up. If he can lure the guy to follow him all the way to the trees, he’ll have the advantage. The guy’s tall and heavy, but Dick’s a fucking squirrel that can shimmy up a tree to drop down from above and bounce between trees like no other. He’d stand a good chance of killing the guy to keep Arvid safe.

The guy follows. Good. The man pulls up his upper lip, scrunches his nose, and opens his mouth to do a near-instant fang drop - a silent threat. He’s got the largest fangs Dick’s ever seen, both in his upper and lower jaws. Those are some bone-cracking chompers. Compared to them, Dick’s own teeth and fangs are nothing but razor-sharp needles only able to take tiny bites. Dick inadvertently pulls his shoulders up and lowers his head slightly in fear before he catches himself and returns the same expression though on a much less fearsome scale. He’s still backing up, trying to lead the man to the treeline. 

He reminds himself that his teeth and fangs might be small in comparison―the man looks like he could bite a spine clear off if he bit the neck―but they _are_ razor-sharp. He might not be able to sever a spine with a bite, but he can sever an artery just as efficiently. He draws courage from that thought.

A few more steps backward, the man following, posturing, and they’re halfway to the trees. Dick starts feeling a tendril of excited hope. This shouldn’t cause any suspicion either. Two Primals facing off often resort to posturing like this. It’s ingrained to try to avoid violence. So much so the drill sergeant at Bootcamp had spent an inordinate amount of yelling at Primals for letting an ‘enemy’ get away just because they folded.

Suddenly the man stops. His fangs retract, his teeth taking their normal shape, (Why on earth would he do that???) and he regards Dick for a few beats with unreadable grey eyes. Then he turns around and heads for Arvid.

_NO NO NO!_

Dick launches an attack at full speed.

The man hears him and turns around with a slash of claws, miscalculating how high Dick can jump so the slash misses, but he gets his other arm up to block, protecting his head and throat just in time. Dick’s teeth dig into both jacket and flesh at the back of his upper arm, ripping off a chunk with the help of a head twist and the gravity as he tumbles over to the other side of the man.

The guy yelps like a wounded dog and dances back, staring at Dick as if he’s reevaluating him, clapping a hand to his wounded arm. Dick gets to his feet and shifts his mouth and throat to gulp it all down―flesh, fur, and fabric―only to get the satisfaction to see the guy’s eyes widen with fear. This time when Dick backs up towards Arvid’s hiding place, the guy isn’t so quick to follow. 

The fear is there, in the widened eyes, the flaring nostrils, the frown that’s concerned instead of angry, the hesitance. To this day, it's never failed to scare anyone. The first time Dick swallowed what he bit off, he was still living in ignorant bliss with his family, keeping hidden while his parents were working and someone had grabbed him by the arm. He still doesn't know what the woman wanted, but he'd bitten her little finger off and swallowed accidentally. She'd screamed and run away. 

Even this man hesitates, despite holding all the cards - he’s bigger, stronger, better armed. Dick thinks he must be a local or American since he hasn't gone for his gun and he keeps quiet. A gunshot would draw the attention of the Unionites in the valley. Growling might be heard by their patrols. Maybe Dick can use that to scare him away?

Dick stops close to Arvid, hunching in a position ready to launch another attack. He starts growling, baring his bloody fangs. He uses a high-intensity growl, saying ' _PAIN, MURDER, DEATH, MINE, GO AWAY, MUCH PAIN, MINE, BACK OFF, MURDER'_.

The guy hesitates for another moment, throws a look behind Dick at Arvid, then makes up his mind and starts advancing. He opens his mouth as if he's readying to bite with no fangs dropped. Then Dick sees it. Two small snake-like fangs nestled between his teeth. The realization of what he's facing creates a ball of ice in his belly. He's seen fangs like that before. In the market place, where they took Antoine from him. One little bite from the Bolton Main and Antoine had collapsed like a bag of flour.

In the next breath, the man confirms Dick's dreadful realization by flaring, eye whites turning black as night. They’re fucked. Dick’s mind races a mile a minute.

"Arvid, can you swim?" Dick asks without taking his eyes off the man advancing on them.

"Yes?"

"Good. This guy's a Siberian so we need to lower our body temperature right, the fuck, _now_ ," Dick says, watching surprise flit over the Siberian's face.

"A Siberian _whatnow_?" Arvid asks.

Dick turns on his heel, throws himself at Arvid, grabs him around the chest, and pushes off with his legs, flying off the dropoff into the canyon. "Hold your breath!" 

The next moment they break the surface of the river ungracefully. It hurts slamming into the water, then the shock of the icy cold water steals Dick’s breath and ability to think for what feels like an eternity. Arvid’s torn from his grasp when they slam into the water. Dick’s disoriented. The current’s much stronger than he thought. He kicks his legs to get to the surface, realizing he’s going down instead. He twists around and kicks his way upward until he finally breaches the surface. The cold’s squeezing his lungs so it’s hard to suck in air, and the rest of his body is so cold it hurts everywhere. The current’s already swept him a good 50 yards from where they jumped in. He can’t see Arvid anywhere. “Arvid!”

“Here!” 

The answer comes from downstream and Dick finally spots Arvid. He dog-paddles his way over there. “We need to follow the current until we get to the shallow rapids. There we need to figure something out so we don’t get smashed to bits,” he pants.

“Got it,” Arvid says and takes off swimming. He’s a strong swimmer. Dick does his best to keep up using his ungainly paddle, swallowing involuntary gulps of cold water. Arvid’s soon way ahead of him, out of sight. “You coming or what?” Arvid calls out.

“Tryin’!” Dick calls back, head dipping under, making him cough when he gets it over the waterline again.

Suddenly Arvid’s there beside him, flowing from his belly onto his back, floating effortlessly, looking at Dick through eyes as open as the swelling allows. “The cold water made you forget how to swim?”

“Never learned,” Dick answers, keeping up his laborious paddle.

Arvid laughs. “You can’t swim, but you thought it was a good idea to throw us into an icy stream with no way to get out of it?”

“He wouldn’t back down even after I tore off and swallowed part of his arm. Then I noticed he’s a Siberian, another type of human, and they’ve got heat vision.”

“You swall―!” Arvid laughs again. He barely smells of pain at all even though Dick can see the shards moving in his cheeks, cold water lapping at them, dislodging crusted blood. “Yup. Freezing to death ought to shake him. Boy, you’re a trip,” Arvid grins. “But if we’re going to avoid someone who sees heat we’re better off going underwater. Hold your breath and relax. I’ll drag your sorry ass for a change.” He flips over and dives like an otter, grabbing Dick’s arm pulling him under. Dick barely has time to take a deep breath. Arvid hauls him close and takes them deep enough that it feels like Dick’s head will explode. There’s an undercurrent here, that oddly feels warmer (if the comparison is icy versus icier), that Arvid finds and swims along with great speed. Just as Dick thinks his lungs and head are going to explode, Arvid takes them to the surface long enough to breathe, then dives under again. They’re making better speed than anyone on foot could ever do. The third time they come up for air the thunder of the rapids is far too close. Arvid looks at him. “Pelt. You’re deathly pale and will freeze to death too soon if you don’t. You want to trap water in your fur and let your body warm it up.”

Arvid’s one to talk. He too is pale and blue-lipped but looks chipper for their cold and drenched circumstances. Dick tries to answer him, but his teeth chatter too hard. Instead, he does as he’s told. He can’t tell if it’s helping. His body’s too numb and aching. It’s hard to move.

“Alright. Rapid’s coming up. Sheer cliff walls on both sides. Guess we’re gonna have to ride it down. Hold on, I see our ride,” Arvid says and grabs Dick by the chest to pull him along while he swims. He takes them to the broken bottom half of a tree floating along with the current and hauls Dick onto it, before heaving himself up after. Arvid’s chest heaves in exertion, breath coming out in wheezes, and yet, he’s grinning. The blood-red color of his eye whites makes him look grotesque and frightening, but the cold lets him open his eyes more. “You ever been whitewater rafting?”

Dick struggles to sit up, shaking his head. 

“Okay. This is how it’s gonna go. We’re about to get hurled by the stream against one jagged rock after another. Very likely we’ll break bones, get impaled by hidden sticks in the water, maybe get hurled off the tree, and perhaps hit our heads underwater. The last one isn’t a problem. If that happens we get to go home and finally get some rest. But we’re idiots who refuse to do that, so we’re going to try to hold onto this tree and try not to fall into the water. It’s going to be rough, hard, and painful. It’s going down like I told you. So, what was it you said when you got me out of your camp? Pick a god and pray? This is the time to do that. I’m picking Ares. Which god is your pick?”

Dick’s blinks, trying to think with a brain that feels like frozen sludge. “Donarrion.”

“Great choice. Many people see him as a kit’s god. They celebrate Donarrion’s Gift, but then they go to war and pick another, more warlike god to pray to. I’d say they’re idiots. Donarrion’s a crafty, foolishly brave god with lady luck on his side, known for sharing his luck with his followers. I’d say both Ares and Donarrion would support an undertaking such as this. Did you pray to him when you broke me out of your camp too?”

A jarring slap makes Dick open his eyes and realize he’d been drifting in his head. The cold’s getting to him. “What? Yes. I prayed to every god I could think of except the One. Even prayed a little to Maluk.”

Arvid throws his head back laughing. “No wonder instead of ending up with a small boom-oh-no, you got damned Ragnarök,” he sniggers. “Whelp. Keep your feet up and hold on tight. Here comes the white water!”

Dick can’t tell how long the next eternity and a half really lasts. Every time the tree tumbles against a rock, the jarring hit threatens to dislodge them. Dick gets scraped, mashed, drowned, pinched, and, arguably, funnily enough, impaled in his already injured arm by a hidden stick. He’s thrown off and hauled up by Arvid, narrowly failing to pull Arvid up when he’s thrown off and hits his head. Dick’s backpack gets stuck on something and rips, spilling all their remaining scentblockers, rope, and meager provisions. But somehow, second by frightening second, with limbs so cold they can barely feel them, partially protected by the tree’s roots and remaining branches, they make it through, down to the valley where the water is deep and calm again. The current is still strong―stronger than Dick had guessed when watching from afar―keeping them floating forward at a speed they could never travel on land.

They lie on the trunk gasping for air. Dick thought he was exhausted before. He was wrong.

“You... Alive?” Arvid asks, pausing for breath between each word.

“No. ...You?” Dick manages. He’s slurring, and so, so, cold.

“No... Rest… For… The… Wick… ed,” Arvid answers with a few humorous huffs. 

Dick should really open his eyes and check Arvid for new injuries. ….He will. He’s just going to rest for a while… “How… come… y’can… talk? ...The… pain?” he manages to ask. The water trapped in his fur closest to his body is actually somewhat warmer than everything else. Arvid’s little trick is working. Not well, by all means, but it’s buying Dick time, or prolonging his death, depending on how you see it.

“Can’t feel… anything…” Arvid answers.

It takes a while for the answer to sink in. For Dick to understand what it means that Arvid’s so numb he can’t even feel the shards in his cheeks. The shards that prevent Arvid from pelting.

When Dick realizes what the answer means he collects what little energy he can find to push himself up to a sitting position, grabs one of Arvid’s hands, puts a finger in his mouth to bite around the end of the spike and tips backward to pull it out with a little extra help from gravity. Arvid doesn’t howl in pain when it comes loose this time, only gasps.

“Hoo, you’re smart,” Arvid says and holds out his hand when Dick spits the shard out in the water and struggles to a sitting position again. It takes some time, pauses not included, to pull out all the shards. The cheek-shards especially are tricky to get out, but as soon as they’re out Arvid puffs up shaggy, wolf-colored, _dry_ fur. He looks like this is the kind of bullshit climate he’s adapted for.

Dick has a fleeting thought of envy before he collapses onto Arvid. “Union camp up ahead,” he mumbles. “No risk of getting shot if they see us. Lie still and we’re just corpses floating by…”

“Good thinking,” Arvid answers silently.

Dick’s drifting in and out of consciousness. He’s aware that they pass the Union camp because he hears voices in Spanish and Russian when they’re seen. Someone remarks that they’re American and fires a shot that goes wide, and an officer reads the shooter the riot act for wasting bullets on corpses. Then there’s nothing but the sound of birds and wind in the trees.

Dick wakes up with Arvid hauling him ashore, forcing him to crawl through the snow to the low-hanging branches of a huge fir. As he collapses under the branches, Dick has a stray worry about them making obvious trails in the snow, if he could form words he might say something about it, but he loses consciousness again unsure if the words made it out. He drifts in and out, aware of being tugged roughly and Arvid’s voice telling him to pelt and unpelt over and over and over, poking him each time the order comes. It’s so much like Marcel’s scent-control training that Dick thinks he obeys without thought, but mostly he drifts in neverland.

He becomes aware again. He’s on fire and everything is pain. He’s shivering violently, teeth chattering so hard he’s afraid he’ll chip a tooth. His nose is pressed into thick, warm fur, he’s pressed against a furry furnace, fingers digging into it, legs curled in an awkward angle to dig his toes into it too. There’s a terribly loud howling sound and pitch dark. He can pick up the low vibrations of a soothing purr, but he can’t actually hear it due to the howling. He whimpers in pain, disoriented and frightened, then flares, trying to figure out where he is and what’s going on.

As soon as he flares another flare lights up the space, yellow, with a ring of red. “There you are. It was a little touch and go there for a bit. Glad to have you back, Champ.”

Dick looks around, trying to figure out where he is, who he’s clinging to, and how he got here. The ground they’re lying on is cold, dry grass and leaves, their ceiling fir branches. The sound from outside muffled but still very loud. The pelted man he’s clinging to... it’s Arvid. He remembers. “Wh-wh-wh-attt’s th-th-th-th-at ss-s-s-s-sss-ou-nnn-nn-nd?” he manages to ask.

“Big mother of a snowstorm. So you can stop worrying about our tracks,” Arvid answers. “Just concentrate on getting warm and hope we avoid gangrene. I think we’re both safe. From what I could tell, you can pelt your whole body.”

Dick closes his eyes and whines at the pain caused by thawing. It takes a while, but the pain starts to subside, the shivers abate, and he starts to feel warmer, relaxing into the warmth of Arvid’s body. After a while he can breathe normally, teeth not chattering anymore. He can feel how bruised and battered he is, but there’s really only one part of him that really hurts and that’s his upper arm where he got clawed and then speared with a stick in the rapids. He opens his eyes flaring and looks at his arm to see a makeshift bandage. The stick’s gone. He’s pelted and they’re both naked aside from their fur. “What’s pelting got to do with gangrene?” he asks.

Arvid sucks in a startled little breath and opens his eyes flaring too. “Wha―?” he asks sounding confused, then chuckles. “Oh. Yes, sure. Like we didn’t drop the subject two hours ago. Sorry, I was napping. What did you ask? Gangrene? Right. Dead tissue can’t pelt. Plus when you pelt and unpelt repeatedly, you’re forcing the body to kick into gear again.”

“So that’s why you had me do it?”

“No. I wanted to get you dry quickly. You want to know some nifty tricks fur can do?” Arvid asks and strokes his hand over the fur on Dick’s back. “Some won’t work as well for you as for me. Your fur doesn’t have the same water-resistant quality as mine. On the other hand, with this soft fluff, I think you could be comfortable even in hot climates, which I’m not.”

“I’m interested to know everything you can teach me.”

“Okay. First off, if you’re going into cold water you want to pelt. It’s best if you can pelt before going in. That way, if you’re in luck you trap air closest to your body and it’ll help you keep your body heat even better. That might not work as well for you as for me, but it’s still better than nothing, especially if you’re clothed. Then when you get out of the water you want to get naked asap. And that’s when being morphic really shows its perks. You unpelt. Water doesn’t follow the fur into your body, so any water trapped in the fur comes loose. Then you pelt again, and your fur will push away a lot of the water on your skin. Repeat it as many times as necessary and both you and your fur will be dry in no time.”

“Huh. I wish I’d known that growing up.”

“Yeah… it’s no longer common knowledge in countries with a Conservative or Progressive government. But a small warning, though. If you pelt and unpelt repeatedly, you also speed up healing a little bit. If you’ve got serious injuries, you might not want them to start healing wrongly or you might get stuck with an unusable leg that could have been saved if you’d waited until someone could stitch you up properly. Your arm might have taken that kind of damage. I felt it was a life or death kind of situation so I figured, better to lose full use of an arm than to die.”

“I appreciate that.” Dick wonders how it will affect his climbing ability, but thinks Arvid made the right call. You can’t climb if you’re dead.

“Can I ask you something?” Arvid says. Dick makes a sound of agreement. “You told me the guy who found us was a Siberian. What the hell is that and why did it spook you? Up until that point you’d been calm as a cucumber, then you suddenly hurl us into an icy river when you can’t even swim?”

Dick sniggers. “Believe me, I haven’t been calm, but it’s a fair question. Siberians are another human species. They have abilities we don’t. They’re big, have big claws and fangs, and a small set of snake-like fangs they can extend outward to inject a poison. One tiny bite and you’re out. That’s what spooked me. I saw him preparing to use them after I scared him by taking a chomp out of him. He confirmed what he was by flaring. They’ve got heat vision that activates when they flare, and when it activates, their eye whites turn black.”

Arvid’s quiet for several beats. Dick can see his lips compress and twitch in amusement, a giggle breaking loose, turning into a carefree laugh. “I’ll be damned.”

“ _Mrrt?_ ” Dick asks in confusion.

“I guess you chose the best possible god to pray to when you reenacted Donarrion’s Run,” Arvid sniggers. “That was my commander you took a bite off.”

“The Demon?”

“None other.”

“Oh dear.”

Arvid grins. “To be fair, he didn’t know if you were the one to shard me or not, so you might have chosen the wisest thing to do, throwing us in the river."

"Fear of him was one of the things that prompted me to take you and leg it from camp. I didn't want my pack to be caught up in his revenge, and I had two of my mates incoming within a day. Is it true, the things I've heard about him?"

"You mean the vengeance for captured soldiers?"

"Mhm."

"Yes and no. We might not make it in time to save everyone, but nobody gets left behind. He makes vengeance fair. I've heard plenty of exaggerated stories about what we do, but what you told those who tortured me was mostly true. If we've been treated fairly, nobody that isn't standing directly in the path of a rescue dies. But we don't waste our time on torture and crap like that. It's mostly about measuring out a fair kill count."

Dick worries his lip with his teeth, frowning anxiously. "Do you think he'll hold a grudge against me for eating him?"

The question makes Arvid cackle. He doesn't have an answer, though, since to his knowledge nobody's ever 'eaten' the Commander before.

The snowstorm traps them for two days with nothing to do but talk and rest (and starve). Dick tells Arvid about himself, how he grew up, how he came to be mated with Laurent and the Williams Alphas, about Knuckles, and what Mar found out when he was undercover. Arvid's very serious then, saying that his commander needs to be informed of that. But he doesn't insist they go back to find him. Both of them come down with colds, but thankfully not pneumonia.

They've lost almost all their gear when Dick’s backpack ripped. Their clothes had ripped while they were going down the rapids, some of which had been used to make bandages during their hiding. The rest had dried from their body heat when they were lying on them in their den. Arvid chooses to forgo clothes completely now that he can pelt. Dick insists on pants, socks, and boots, but anything he’d worn on his upper body is so shredded it’s useless. It makes him nervous to move around fully pelted, but now that he’s dry his fur keeps the cold at bay better than his clothes. Without a rope, Dick can’t get Arvid up into the trees so they resort to moving through the almost thigh-high snow. The good news is that without the shards in his hands, Arvid can ball his hands into fists and crawl on all fours after Dick. Arvid still only opens his eyes in the dark as light is painful for him, but he’s healing. His sense of smell is on the rebound. Dick manages to kill a small deer by dropping down on it from above. Both Arvid and Dick gorge themselves, ripping off big chunks then shifting their jaws and throats to swallow without chewing until their bellies are ready to burst. They follow the steadily widening river. Dick has no idea where they are and hopes they’re moving away from the fighting. At night they find a fir to make a den under its low branches. They’re lucky. They see people in the distance but are never discovered. The weather’s beautiful, cold, and crisp but sunny and not so cold that Dick’s pelt can’t handle it.

Dark thoughts of hopelessness start overtaking Dick’s brain. They’re lost, they’ll never find their way home, they’ll be shot or captured by either side and nobody will ever find out what happened to them. He’s going to fail to get Arvid medical care. They’ll starve to death. He’s a failure. Worthless. A sham.

Arvid bumps into his legs. “Ow. Why did you stop?”

Dick shakes himself. He hadn’t even realized he’d stopped. “Sorry, dear. I’m having a quiet moment of despair.”

“Huh. Makes sense. On that note, I’ve got to commend you on how well you’re holding up overall considering your state of mourning. I would have presumed you’d have a lot more of those moments.”

Dick blinks, then bursts out laughing. Of course! He’s been scentless for almost two weeks. What was it Marcel said? Everyone can hide their scent for a couple of hours with no ill effects on their health. Longer than that and it depends on your innate resistance. Dick’s often been scentless for days when on solo missions, but never for two weeks like now.

He crouches down in front of Arvid, touching Arvid’s face gently. “Thank you for the reminder, dear. I’d prefer if you kept this a secret, but now that you can smell, a proper introduction is in order.” With that, he releases his scent. It’s like his whole being exhales in relief. 

Arvid’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. He even opens his eyes to a slit only to close them again to the painful glare of sunlight. “You can control it?” he asks and sniffs his way to behind Dick’s ear, burrowing his nose in Dick’s fur to rub at the gland.

“I can, yes. I don’t want that known. I have to refrain from hiding my scent for a while. Two weeks without it was taking a toll on my mood.”

“Got it. No ratting you out,” Arvid mumbles, taking one deep breath after another of Dick’s scent, a content purr starting up in his chest and the smell of his pain lessening.

Dick stands up. “Come on. Let’s keep moving.”

After trudging along for a few minutes, Arvid crawling on all fours six feet behind him, Arvid says, “Hey, Donny?”

Dick stops with a frown. “Donny?”

“Yes. Taking on insane rescue missions, having luck on your side, running from demons. You’re a son of Donarrion if I ever met one. But Donarrion is a mouthful.”

Dick rolls his eyes. Laurent had told Dick about Arvid’s penchant for nicknaming people. He considers arguing but lets it rest for now. “What do you want?” he asks instead.

“I’m just wondering… what’s it like being mated to Ares?”

Dick lets the question sink in. He can see a major reason another O might ask that. A smirk tugs at his lips. “That’s something you’re about to find out yourself, dear,” he answers and keeps walking, plowing through the snow. Behind him, Arvid’s scent shifts from one emotion to another, swaying between happiness, anxiety, distress, and excitement like it hadn’t done before. Dick barely withholds a snigger. He finally has the O he once thought of as his future Main in his grasp. But it’s a long way home, and a lot can happen before they reach their destination. 

By nightfall, Dick’s mood is restored. Those negative, hopeless thoughts that had hounded him seem silly and stupid. Still, Dick sends another prayer to Donarrion. If he’s helped them this far, he can help them the rest of the way too.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay a small jog of memory. Throughout this whole verse I've dropped small references to Donarrion's Run, where the god Donarrion went to the underworld and then fled from Demons. We've never really gotten much detail about it except it should be clear that Donarrion's Run is one of those famous mythological stories. Donarrion is an in-verse god with no real external references, but like with all mythos similarities between dieties and their adventures are often similar and I've sought inspiration for Donarrion in everything from real-life mythos to fantasy books.  
> Donarrion's Run is also the musical piece that Mar and Sean played together on the piano in The First Rule of Packrunning.


	25. Third Time's a Charm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick and Arvid have had luck on their side. This morning it seems they might have run out of luck...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forget to post a finished chapter? Me? It's more likely than you think!
> 
> Yeah, so I kinda actually forgot to post... :P Sorry about that.
> 
> My birthday was June 22 and it was lovely. My sister and brother came by, doing the 3-hour drive down from Stockholm. The weather was lovely so we could sit outside. Sadly no hugs, cuz, Corona and all, but still lovely to see them. I got a Wacom Cintiq!!! I've wanted a drawing tablet with a screen since forever. They're expensive and always when I've had the money there's been something that's come up - vet bills, phone or computer breaking, you know the drill. But now I got one. ^^ <3<3<3 Drawing is fun again and animating is solo much easier. :D
> 
> Hope y'all are having a nice summer.

* * *

“Come out and put your hands above your head where I can see them! Identify yourself!”

Dick startles awake. It was his watch. The constant exhaustion had taken its toll, and now they’ve run out of luck. Arvid’s already awake and staring apprehensively at the entrance. Last night they took shelter in an old bear den, the most comfortable shelter they've had so far. Too comfortable, or Dick might not have slumbered. Dick sniffs in the direction of the entrance. He can't smell anyone. Either the wind’s blowing in the wrong direction, or the guy’s wearing scentblockers. Dick's back to hiding his scent, but the soldier outside can smell Arvid, so now they're fucked. It had to happen sooner or later. Dick’s heart is lodged in his throat, jackhammering in fear.

“I said, come out and identify yourself, hands above your head! Now! Or I’ll start shooting into your burrow.”

The accent’s American. A New Yorker. Maybe they can talk themselves out of trouble? “I’m Sergeant Richard Roman, here with Private Arvid Mattsson of the United States Army. We’re mostly naked, and pelted to keep warm," Dick yells. Best to mention that if the guy isn't Primal. He doesn't want their appearance to startle the guy to shoot. "I’ll come out with my hands over my head, but the Private is injured and won’t be able to get out without the use of his hands.”

“One at a time! One wrong move and I’ll shoot. Just get your ass out here, Sergeant!”

Dick shares an apprehensive look with Arvid, takes a deep breath for courage, then starts crawling out on his elbows, holding up his hands palms open in front of himself so they’ll be the first to emerge.

At the opening, he finally gets a whiff of the soldier a second before he sees him. He _knows_ who it is. His heart starts hammering with hope instead of premonitions of doom. The soldier quickly shuffles backward to stand 15 feet away, pointing his rifle at Dick when he emerges. Dick stands up and smiles, keeping his hands up. “Hey, Jason. Long time, no see.”

Jason frowns and lowers his rifle a little. He’s a sergeant just like Dick, the letters MP in bold letters on his helmet and on an armband on his upper arm. His eyes narrow like he’s trying to figure out who he’s looking at. Dick unpelts, instantly feeling the cold, and Jason’s eyebrows raise in surprise. “Skippy?” he asks, eyes going down to look at the surgical scar on Dick’s waist, then up again. “How the hell are you still alive?” he asks and takes a few steps closer.

“I get that a lot,” Dick answers.

“Friend of yours?” Arvid asks from behind, head poking out of the entrance.

“Get out of there so I can see you,” Jason demands, motioning with his rifle.

“I take that as a no then,” Arvid mutters and does as he’s told. He stands on his knees and puts his hands up. “My feet are broken. Can’t stand,” he says.

Jason looks him over. “How badly hurt are you? Can you unpelt so I can see?” Arvid hesitates before obeying. The air is cold, and the ground mostly frozen despite the thaw three days ago. Jason’s eyes go from Arvid’s cheeks to his hands, taking in scrapes, cuts, and bruises on the body, then gives a curt nod. “You can pelt now,” he says and looks back at Dick. “The hell are you doing here stark naked?”

“Our camp was attacked by a mercenary company. We were hunted and had to flee. We’re headed for an American camp to get help and medical treatment,” Dick lies obediently.

“Where were you stationed?” Jason asks with a demanding chin-jerk.

“The Shurley camp.”

Jason’s gaze goes between Dick and Arvid and back a few times, then suddenly he takes two giant steps back, raising his rifle to aim at Dick again. “Keep your hands where I can see them. You’re coming with me. You’re under arrest for desertion.”

“What? Why?”

“Because you’re lying, cow-turd. I wasn’t born yesterday. We’re 5 clicks from the border, and it’s our job to sweep up any deserters trying to sneak through. We get lists of all the MIAs, the AWOLs, and escaped prisoners. There are three large American camps between here and the Shurley camp, and several smaller ones. Not to mention all our patrols. The only way you could have gotten this far without running into Americans in the time since the Shurley camp blew up, is if you actively tried to avoid us. Then you show up here with a man who fits the description of the prisoner that escaped? I’m not stupid, Dick.”

_Think fast think fast think fast think…_ "So help us then. You can get us over the border and make sure my friend's injuries are treated. You know what information the army has, so you can craft a viable story," Dick says, outwardly bold as day but nowhere near as confident as he sounds. Jason makes a disbelieving face, non-verbally saying 'Are you shitting me?' "I'll give you something I know you want in return," Dick promises.

Jason scoffs. "No money in the world can make me go to jail for treason, Dick."

"Oh, naturally there would be a monetary reward too," Dick says. "But that's not what I had in mind. I was thinking of something much more important to you - a name."

Jason shakes his head. "Six months ago, yes, but the moment your name showed up on our list, Roman is no longer a good name to have. So you can shut up. There's nothing you can say to make me change my mind,” he says, face set in grim determination.

Dick inclines his head in acceptance, looks at Jason meekly through his lashes, and says, “Very well. Then I won’t speak.” With that, he releases his scent and waits for the reaction.

It takes two, three seconds. Jason’s nostrils flare, and his eyebrows go up as he catches the scent of Dick. He takes several deep breaths, anxiety exploding in his own scent, then lowers his rifle halfway to stare at Dick with conflicting emotions clear on his face.

Dick starts talking again, mind going a mile a minute, thinking about their last encounter and what it meant. “You bring us in, and you’ll get a pat on the shoulder, nothing more. But you’ll also bring the Williams pack’s attention, arresting the Patriarch’s mate along with a good friend and ally to the pack. They’ll make it personal. You know as well as I do that, to Packrunners, the pack comes first. This war, any governmental order, is a distant second. When you proposed a mateship, you did so while thinking I was fucking Aiden. You made it out to sound like we both stood to benefit from it, but in reality, it was just you, since you’d figured out that the only way for people like you and I to break the glass ceiling above our heads, is through Primals in power. You don’t want to climb out of the gutter, you want to climb to the top. You want money and luxury. You want to be able to check into a suite at a luxury hotel just because you feel like taking a bath. You want champagne from crystal glasses, and to dress in clothes that cost a year’s pay. But the Conservatives you work for won’t let you. They respect old money and don’t play well with people from the lower class. Your name, Foster, marks you as trash to them. The only way for you to change it, is to get mated or join a pack.”

Jason licks his lips nervously, the muzzle of his rifle lowering another inch.

Dick goes on. “But that’s a problem. The Conservatives you work for demand you act like a Conservative. That means, one mate for life. And as a lower class citizen, you’d have to mate one of their daughters to be accepted as one of them. They’d never allow a Foster to do that. You could mate someone random, knock her up and hope she and the kitling don’t make it through the pregnancy. But, as you said, you’re not a good guy, but not a bad guy either. You can’t stomach that level of cruelty. Plus, if that plan fails, you’re stuck with a mate and kit to provide for, further chaining you to the lower rungs on the class ladder.”

Jason lowers the rifle further and looks around, watching for other people, unseen listeners.

Dick goes on, building up steam. “You’re working for Conservatives. Every time you bow your head and smile to them, you’re aware they were the ones who profited from your imprisonment at the orphanage. They’re the ones keeping you from reaching higher. If they found out you taught yourself to read and used forgery to get into a college, they’ll see you thrown in prison for fraud. If a Packrunner found out, you’d be admired for your intelligence and craftiness. You know the Conservatives are the ones making laws to stop you from getting ahead. You know the Conservatives are the ones making it harder for an orphan to survive on the streets. You saw me pelt to keep warm and saw a mob of Conservatives try to kill me for it. The world is rough on our kind. You want me to go on? I can, you know?”

Jason lowers his rifle fully with a face of frustration. “Dammit, Dick. I can’t help you. It’s not that easy, okay? This is a common crossing for deserters. They check IDs rigorously. I don’t have the power to do what you want me to do.”

Dick hums thoughtfully. “How about forged papers? You know how to get them, don’t you? You’ve done it before.”

Jason rolls his eyes. “That was in New York. Besides, I got all my forged papers from the Bolton pack. They were the ones who knew how to create quality documents that held up to scrutiny. But your lot obliterated them, and there are no shady people around here. Everyone stationed here is a power-crazed nutjob who revels in throwing people in prison. It’s _insane_. It almost makes me wish I was stationed at the front. Then at least I could have made money dealing in contraband. But here? Nu-uh.” He shakes his head.

Dick can feel a smile tugging at his lips, excitement in his scent. “You say we’re 5 clicks from the border… how far are we from Limeshaw?”

“About 12 clicks. Why? ”

Dick feels like sharing a celebratory low-five with Arvid. Luck is certainly on their side. The army base in Limeshaw is where Dick got his officer’s training. “I want you to get Army Specialist M. Przodownik for me. He taught me during the officer’s training there. He might be able to help.”

Jason sways from side to side in indecision for a moment. “Alright. But you stay here, and if anyone finds you, I never talked to you. I’ll claim I have a cold and can’t smell you,” he says, pointing demandingly at them.

“Got it. No ratting you out,” Arvid says and does a thumbs up.

“I promise, Jason. I’ll afford you the same loyalty you claimed to have given Jared. As long as you give us the same courtesy,” Dick agrees.

Jason’s scent wavers with sadness and anger for a beat, then he nods. “Then it’s a deal. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Just stay put.” With that, he turns around and takes off running.

“Can we trust him?” Arvid asks when he’s out of hearing range.

“I don’t know. He’s self-serving. But I think he has the potential to go above and beyond to reach where he wants. So let’s pray he does what I ask him. You crawl back into the den, and I’ll keep watch in a tree.”

It takes a few hours before a Jeep comes driving through the woods. From his perch in the tree, Dick recognizes Jason and Marcel. He exhales in relief. He’s putting his faith in a Snatcher and a follower of Maluk. And yet, they’ve never let him down so far.

* * *

The truck bounces and rattles on the uneven country road. They’re moving faster than they ever could on foot, riding in the back of the canvas-covered truckbed. Arvid’s feet are in casts after surgery. They’d started to heal but the surgeon had rebroken them to put them in the right position, using screws and who knows what. It’s the kind of magic Mal wants to be able to work. Dick worries about her. He misses his mates and worries about them too, more with every mile closer to home the truck takes him. They’re so close to their destination. Dick can’t shake this feeling that they need to hurry up. Maybe he’s just paranoid after being hunted for so long. But he just wants to be there before it happens. He’s not sure what ‘it’ is, but he has this feeling that something’s about to happen. Something bad.

He doesn’t know the pair driving the truck, Gina and Jada. Marcel told Dick that they’ll be loyal and keep secrets in return for amnesty when they reach safety. They’re both Progs who’ve faced a lot of harassment and persecution since they were drafted. Probably before that too, all things considered. Dick doesn’t mind that Marcel made a promise in Dick’s name without consulting him first. If the Williams pack can house Conservatives, they can house two Progs too. At least these two don’t spook when they see shifting or hear Primal communication, even if Jada is noseblind. 

Dick lifts the canvas to peek outside and see the beautiful Maine countryside roll past. He lets go of the flap and leans back. They’re sitting on the floor. It isn’t comfortable, but they’re dressed in warm clothes, their bellies are filled with food, and they’re on the way back to New York, easily passing any checkpoints with their fake IDs and fake orders. He purrs contentedly. It’s a Main’s purr, which had caused Marcel to raise an amused eyebrow when he first started purring. Nobody had said anything, though. Especially not when Marcel added a Patriarch’s all-is-well to the mix. The scent of stress in the back of the truck went down noticeably with both of them purring. However, boredom led to idle chatter which led to Dick opening his stupid mouth, and now― 

“Woah, woah, woah! You’re telling me, that Ares, _my_ Ares, as in Marlon Bratty Williams, has converted to the One? The glowing assturd in the sky?” Arvid asks, outraged.

“Yes," Dick answers tiredly. Through all their trek together he's never seen Arvid upset. Scared? Yes. Annoyed? Assuredly. But never upset.

Arvid's sitting opposite of Dick, face and posture as if he's staring. His head and face are bandaged, only leaving his mouth, chin, mouth, and nostrils uncovered. It doesn't stop him from looking like he's glaring under his eye-bandages. "You told me that every time someone invokes the One and every time you see a pin of the star, you get a flashback to your own murder―"

"He survived so it wasn't a murd―" Jason, sitting beside Arvid, starts saying. Arvid's hand blindly swats at Jason’s face, clapping over his eyes instead of his mouth, still managing to shut him up. Jason scoffs indignantly and shuffles closer to Marcel, away from Arvid. 

"He was dead for seven minutes, it was a murder. Doesn't matter," Arvid says, focus on Dick. "You're traumatized every time Mar prays to the Star and you _allow him to do it_?"

Dick averts his gaze, snagging on Marcel's silver star and the comforting dark, dried blood stains covering it. He doesn't know how he ended up sitting alone on this side of the truck. But he feels like he’s put in the spotlight with the three men sitting opposite him. "Packs are supposed to have religious freedom. The rest of the pack accepts it, so I have no choice in the matter."

Arvid sputters. "That's bullshit! Firstly, no, all packs don't have religious freedom―"

"We didn't," Marcel cuts in.

Arvid hurtles on as if he wasn’t interrupted. "―Secondly, hell to the no! No matter what the pack allows, you can put conditions on what you require from a mate. I'd say subjecting you to constant re-traumatization is a giant colossal ginormous deal-breaker!"

"You were forced to worship Maluk?" Dick asks Marcel, as if ignoring Arvid will make him forget the uncomfortable subject.

"Mhm. But I was never forced. Maluk suits me," Marcel answers, using a pocket knife to scrape dirt from under his nails, something Dick would never do while riding on such bumpy road as this. It’s like asking to stab yourself in a finger.

Jason frowns and turns his head to look at Marcel. "Why would you willingly worship an evil god?"

Arvid answers in Marcel's stead, waving a hand dismissively. "Maluk isn't evil. He's bloodthirsty and resides in the underworld with demons under his command. But he demands fairness, justice, and discipline from his followers. He dabbles in the lives of mortals more than most gods, which means his followers are blessed and punished according to their actions. Compare that to Donarrion who only blesses fools who carry him in their hearts during adventures and only curses those who give up halfway, or the blasted Star, who doesn't give a shit what his followers do in his name." 

"But I've heard Maluk requires human sacrifice?" Jason asks, troubled and confused.

Marcel nods. "He does. If you kill someone in protection of your pack, you offer the kill to Maluk. But if you kill someone innocent and offer him the kill, he'll send his demons to punish you," he says in his bored drone, inspecting his nails. "He's a god for packs at constant war, a god for underdogs, for those living surrounded by enemies, and those seeking vengeance against an unbeatable foe. He thrives on fear, but the predator’s fear, not the prey’s. The rules he imposes on us make the Star’s doctrine look like a little leaflet.” He folds his knife and pockets it. “Our pack had been toeing that line for decades, then we trampled over it and we were destroyed. As was right.”

“Okay we’re getting sidetracked,” Arvid says impatiently. “We were discussing Marlon’s new religious craze. Dick, have you told him how it makes you feel when he prays to his new god?”

“No,” Dick admits, scratching behind an ear.

“You should. And if that doesn’t make him stop, you give him an ultimatum - you or his god. That's not even up for discussion." Arvid points demandingly at Dick. Dick scoots to the side to sit opposite Jason instead of Arvid so Arvid points at the canvas beside Dick instead.

"Any mate that chooses the god over the person isn't worth the time," Marcel agrees with an amused smirk at Arvid scolding the wall beside Dick.

“Maybe you should remove the pin, considering what Dick just told us,” Jason says and side-eyes Marcel with an uneasy expression.

“That’s not necessary,” Dick says. “It’s covered in his blood. I can’t figure out why, but that dispels most of my discomfort.” Just like the first time when Dick remained after class to ask Marcel to fulfill his promise, Marcel had pricked his finger on the needle, smeared blood over the star, and this time put it back on his uniform.

“Perhaps it’s because the trauma isn’t actually getting attacked by a mob and stabbed, but lies deeper than that, rooted in all the times people who claimed to be pious and good deserted you, betrayed you, used and abused you, and tried to use the doctrine of the One to control you or to justify the mistreatment and abuse they put you through? You know the doctrine by heart, so when you see the pin like this, you recognize the blasphemy I intend by smearing it with blood, and you see how my doing so reveals the god’s true face,” Marcel muses with a bored expression.

“Mmh. Perhaps.” Dick turns around to lift the canvas cover and peek outside again. They’re so close to home. A home he had barely begun to accept as his own before he had to leave it. It feels like only a few weeks have passed since he was sent to the front, but it’s closer to ten months since he left the Williams estate. Maybe more? He hasn’t kept count as many others did. The more time he spends thinking about what he left behind to save Arvid, the sadder he feels. He doesn’t regret his actions. But, unlike many others, he’d thrived in the military.

“Okay, what just happened?” Arvid asks. “I can smell Donny moping. Did you two do something I can’t see?”

Dick sighs. “They didn’t. I was just thinking that if I had known what it would be like in the army I would have enlisted as soon as I was old enough to do so.”

Arvid chuckles and Jason raises his eyebrows in skeptical surprise. Marcel throws him an indecipherable look.

“Yeah. Strange, huh? If you’d told me as a Juvie, that I, by my own free will, would choose to spend half my life getting shot at, I would’ve wondered if perhaps you’d been nibbling the wrong mushrooms. But don’t worry. With what you told me Peepers found out, it’s only a matter of time before you’re back at the front, this time defending what you love, fighting for a cause you believe in,” Arvid says with a small, lopsided smile.

“If that was meant to comfort me, you missed the mark by a mile, dear,” Dick says dryly. And yet, it is comforting that, if the worst comes to pass, he’ll be fighting with his loved ones by his side, not spread out in a different country.

Marcel barely hides an amused smirk and Arvid sniggers. Jason gives them a questioning look but doesn’t ask, and nobody offers an explanation.

* * *

“So why did you two break up?” Marcel asks, looking from Jason to Dick and back again after catching Dick eyeing Jason surreptitiously for the umpteenth time this hour. The conversation died down a while back, leaving Dick alone with his thoughts bouncing from subject to subject, always coming back to a particular Snatcher sitting in front of him. 

"Who?" Jason asks.

"You and Dick. You mentioned something about asking him to mate you, and he keeps looking at you like he wants to fuck you or like you're something the cat dragged in. I surmise your relationship didn’t end on a good note, but seeing you working together back at the base, it’s hard to understand why. You think alike enough to improvise lies together without missing a beat, you’re constantly aware of where the other one is, and you move with the same rhythm.”

Dick gets what Marcel’s doing. He’s bored and wants to see if he can start some drama. Antoine did that too, but more crudely. Dick doesn’t mind. He’ll even play along with the misconception. “He got my virginity,” he offers conversationally. It’s the distrust that keeps Dick constantly aware of Jason’s whereabouts, but when Marcel had helped them, getting fake paperwork, taking Arvid to the hospital, setting up their fake orders, they’d had to interact with other people together, and not even Dick can deny that he and Jason worked very well together.

“So it was the sex that didn’t hold up?” Marcel asks. 

“The sex was great,” Jason says, then tips his head back to smirk smugly at Dick, “I ruined him for any other Alphas.”

Dick frowns and scoffs. “You didn’t. I’m mated to four wonderful Alphas, all fantastic and diverse lovers. Their knots just… happen to be on the smaller side, that’s all.”

Arvid bursts out laughing. “Are you serious? Sweetheart, I’ve spent a Heat with Mar, and I can tell you that he’s above average in size.” He turns his head to face Jason beside him and grins. “Does that mean we have to start calling you Big Jay now?”

Jason makes a grimace and shifts the rifle resting between his knees from one shoulder to the other. “Please don’t. It’s not funny. Sometimes, amongst Alphas, I’ll get caught up in the dumb knot talk and brag about having a big knot, but Alphas are stupid, they don’t get that it’s a damned curse that takes most the fun out of sex. Every time I have sex with an O I have to be really careful and concentrate so I don’t make a single move when I’m about to come. Then this blushing virgin comes along,” Jason points accusingly at Dick. “I didn’t intend to sleep with him. I asked him to mate me, but I figured that sex could wait until we’d gotten to know each other. Sex might just spoil my chances of getting a yes, right? Except, he claimed he didn’t know he was an O, and he was scentless. I don’t really know much about how biology works but scentless adults tend to survive better if they get some hanky panky, and Dick’s of no use to me dead. So against my better judgment, I offered. I warned him. I told him he was better off letting some small-knot Alpha pop his cherry.” He shakes his head scowling at Dick. “But you, you bastard, you…” He looks at Marcel. “You know what he did? When I stilled so as not to hurt him, he started rolling his hips, _milking me_. I kept coming over and over again, barely able to catch a breath between the orgasms. And him? Keening in pleasure. I didn’t know there were Os like him out there. I’ve met Os who claimed to like big knots. But what they’re really saying is that they don’t like small knots. It’s _not_ funny.”

“How big are you?” Arvid asks with a bemused smile. Jason grabs Arvid’s hand and cups it over his fist, shaping his fist into an approximation so Arvid can feel the size. Arvid whistles. “Damn. That’s a jawbreaker. I’m starting to see why Dick would consider Mar on the smaller side. I could probably take you twitching inside of me without skunking, but there’s no way I could milk you.” Arvid turns his head in Dick’s direction. “But you did? That had to have hurt like a bitch.”

“In a delightful way. Like being bitten too hard by a friend,” Dick admits. He wonders if it was just a fluke. Or if the reason he keeps wondering if he’d like the feel of Jason’s knot as much if they did it again, is that he hasn’t seen his mates in a while. He’s lucky that Laurent, Jed, and Sean had all ended up in the Shurley camp on several occasions. It’s just Mar he hasn’t seen since the war started. ….and Aiden. But he’s not mated to Aiden so he probably shouldn’t be counting him.

“It would’ve been better off if we’d never had sex. Then I would have been blissfully unaware that sex could be like that," Jason sighs with a dissatisfied twist to his lips.

"I don't see the problem. We've got hours to kill. You can hump like bunnies. I'm sure I can convince the good professor to trade handjobs with me while you're at it," Arvid says with a grin. 

Dick squirms. "I'm not sure I want to. I'm still figuring out how an O is supposed to think―"

Arvid sniggers, but Marcel frowns and holds up a hand to stop Dick from talking. “Stop. You’re a very intelligent man, but what you’re saying now is plain dumb. You are an O. What you think and feel is what you, as an O, should think and feel,” Marcel says sternly in his lecturing voice - the one he uses when his students ask questions they should already know the answer to.

Dick makes a frustrated noise. “It’s not that simple. I have goals for who I want to be. For what I want to feel in certain situations. Take nudity, for instance. I’m _just_ starting to relax around naked people. The first time I was naked with Antoine, I had a panic attack. My Conservative parents…” He pauses and rubs his neck, searching for words. “It’s ingrained in me that only your mate is allowed to see you naked. Ever. I don’t want to feel uncomfortable being naked like I did, because the people I love, the ones who welcomed me and offered me friendship, their attitude towards nudity is relaxed, so I want mine to be too. Sex… it’s even more complicated for me. I’m not ashamed that I let Jason be my first. He saved my life, offered me shelter from bad weather, a warm blanket, food. He’d asked me to mate him and offered to move me in with him to so we could get to know each other first. I think he even offered me the truth about who he was and his motivations for… doing things he knew I disapproved of. It’s the right custom for any Primal no matter what god they pray to. But… I still feel that shame and confusion inside of me anytime I get turned on by someone I’m not mated to.” He gestures at Jason. “Do you know Nikita? Who lived in the Alpha House on campus?”

“Mhm. I’ve talked to him a couple of times at parties.”

“He’s the first guy who deep-purred me. I’ve never been so confused in my life. I didn’t know I was an O back then. He just guessed it.”

“He’s noseblind,” Jason says. “If he’s attracted to someone he’ll purr for them and hope for the best. That guy rolls with the punches, and when he gets laid, it’s always with the most high ranking Os and Alphas since those are the only ones he gambles on. It’s pretty impressive, to be honest.”

“Yes, well, he’s charming, smells good, and is easy on the eyes. When he purred for me, I could feel myself react down there,” Dick says and gestures at his crotch. "And I had these thoughts about him after I found out I was an O. I imagined what it would feel like to let him mount me, and it excited me. But then I started thinking of what would happen afterward. Would I be another notch in the bedpost, thank you, goodbye? And that doesn't feel right to me. I wanted to know him, I wanted to be more than just a one-hit-wonder. But I'm not interested in mating him, so why do I want these things? Is this just another ghost of my parents haunting me? Or are these feelings my own? I don't know, and it's bothering me. I'm sitting here across from you two,” Dick gestures between Marcel and Jason, “and we didn’t have any bonds when we had sex, but the experiences I've had with both of you have been positive and meaningful to me. Still, I hesitate to sleep with you again. And then I have my mates to think of. Do they have a say in who I sleep with? Do I have a say in who they sleep with? In bed with Mar, I got excited when he tried to chase Jed away. But the idea that he’d think he can treat me as a possession makes me angry. And I’m at a loss for where I should put the bar for courtship so I don’t worry that the Alpha will think of me as trash. I’ve had enough of that in my life. So, Arvid, when you say we’ve got hours to kill why not hump like bunnies? Then my mind goes reeling. Yes, technically, Jason saved my life again, and that should be good enough for me not to feel like trash, but―”

Jason interrupts him, looking dissatisfied. “No. That was a business deal. It doesn’t count. I don’t want that to count.”

Arvid chips in his two cents. “Donny, you think too much.” Dick wishes Arvid would stop calling him that. Unfortunately, Marcel had heard Arvid call him that and got an explanation as to why, so now Dick’s fake ID says he’s ‘Don Arian’, a play on ‘Donarrion’ proving Marcel is a little shit at heart. Dick comforts himself with the thought that when Mar comes home he’ll put an end to any unwanted nicknames.

“Telling him that won’t do much good, Captain,” Marcel says dryly and gives Arvid a disdainful side-eye before turning to face Dick. “Nobody would ever mistake you for trash even when you hide your scent. The noseblind Alpha that purred you is proof of that.”

“Hah! They sure wouldn’t,” Arvid says with a grin. “Just like nobody mistakes me for being trash when I tell them to buy me a drink and let me hop on.”

Jason sniggers with a look at Arvid.

“The only time sex relates to rank is during rank establishing bonding,” Marcel says. Dick recognizes him switching over to his teacher-voice. "During a frivolous hookup it's up to you to decide what's good enough for you, and it doesn't have to reflect your status. If you want a clear measurement, it's about the Alpha and the setting, not you. Let's say you're taking a stroll through the park with a very rich Alpha. He suggests ice-cream, buys for the both of you, and deep-purrs you when he hands you your cone. It's an adequate offering. If he instead stops you on the street to ask you out for a dinner date, then takes you to the park for hot dogs, it's not.”

"I don't know. A hot dog would have been good enough for me," Arvid says with an amused smirk.

"Yeah, but you're planning to hump and dump the guy," Jason scoffs. "You decided whether you wanted to fuck him as soon as he asked you out. You don't care about anything beyond ‘does he smell good enough?' He only has to worry about not saying something stupid that will make you change your mind. I know your type." He looks at Dick. "Me helping you now can't count as courting. You promised me things in return.” He shakes his head. “You don't even know what you promised. I'll hold you to the name and the money, but I don't believe for a second you'll keep the promise of showing me the same loyalty I showed Jared."

"Why not?" Arvid asks and tilts his head curiously facing Jason’s direction. Dick’s tempted to draw eyes on Arvid’s bandages to see how accurately he turns his head when he speaks to someone, but he fears it would look too uncanny.

"Because I got nabbed by the cops trying to break in to free Jared. It took me three years to manage to escape the orphanage they put me in, and track Jared down again. That's _loyalty_. People don't show just anybody that kind of loyalty, okay? Believe me. I _know_."

"I don't know about that. I'd never met Dick before, and he blew up a camp and deserted to save me," Arvid grins.

Jason’s eyes go round, face snapping in Dick’s direction. "WHAT? _You_ blew up the camp?!"

"You didn't know?" Dick asks in surprise.

Jason shakes his head vigorously. "No, I didn't. The report we got said that a mercenary company had rescued a prisoner, possibly taken prisoners themselves. About half the Shurley pack was wiped out along with several Americans and a few Canadian soldiers. We got a list of everyone unaccounted for and we apprehended a few deserters. But the report explicitly stated that the Demon's company was suspected. All the camp’s powerful explosives were still safe in the cave storage where nobody had been since the day before, _before_ the prisoner was taken. The storage that blew up didn't contain nearly enough explosives to pack that punch. How the hell would you have been able to do it?"

"What did your inventory of contraband say?" Arvid smirks, knowing full well there’s no such inventory. "Dick's been enabling the black market trade in the camp and he told me that he'd just come back from a mission with the Sappers. They returned with more explosives than what they'd brought."

Jason stares wide-eyed into space, stinking of anxiety, and looking like he’s currently regretting all his life’s choices. "Holy hell."

"Just so we're clear, Jason, if you turn on us now I'll personally see to it that your death will be painful and lingering," Marcel says, studying his nails with a bored expression. Dick makes note of the ‘us’ in the sentence.

Jason glares at him. "Are you mad? I'm also wanted for desertion by now. I promised to get Dick and Arvid home. In return I'd get a new name. I _want_ that name."

"You think they'll let you be part of their pack that easily?" Marcel asks condescendingly. Dick spots a hint of a dimple on one of Marcel’s cheeks, just like Antoine had. Antoine’s was deeper and would show up on his cheek when he was trying to start dissent and didn’t want to show that he was amused. Marcel and Antoine are very different personality-wise, but sometimes Marcel would do or say something that has Antoine written all over it.

Jason gives him a sulky side-eye. "No. I think they'll send in a paper for the name change, not make me one of them."

"And if they demand that you bond with them to do it?" Marcel asks, sounding curious now but still looking condescending.

"Then I won the damned lottery, didn't I?" Jason grumps with an annoyed frown, the annoyance overtaking the anxiety in his scent.

Dick isn't listening. His mind is running a mile a minute. “Hold on. I’m believed to be a prisoner? My pack thinks I was taken by the Demon’s lot?”

Jason looks at him and shrugs. “Probably? Yes.”

Dick doesn’t think. He throws himself at the canvas at the back of the truck, but Arvid blindly folds himself forward and grabs the back of Dick’s collar to yank him back before he can do something stupid like throw himself out of a moving truck to run back to Canada. “No,” Arvid says in a voice that brooks no argument. 

“But what if they launch a rescue operation and go after your guys? I thought we were hunted! If nobody hunts us, they―” Arvid shuts Dick up by covering his mouth with a hand. 

“If my guys run into your guys they’ll both go ‘Give us back our guy’ and quickly realize they’re chasing a red herring. We go to your home, you radio someone at the front, and word will reach your pack where you are. Relax. Your mates are as safe as they can be in a war zone. Blind panic helps nobody. You kept calm as a cucumber during our trek, you can do it now.”

Dick deflates. It would have been abysmally stupid to head back just to tell his mates he’s okay. He lets out a long breath and scoots back to his seat. He takes a moment to get his thoughts in order before he talks. “Thank you, dear. I probably would have come to that conclusion by myself after running a couple of hundred yards.” He huffs in amusement, but with a ball of anxiety in his gut. “How did you know what I was about to do?”

“You blew up a camp, deserted, and dragged my helpless ass around for weeks despite never having met me. Doesn’t take a genius to figure out you’d go off on a mad-dash rescue mission if you thought your mates were threatened. Don’t worry. Only a few more hours to go, and you can let them know what’s up.”

Dick hums and falls silent, wondering how his lies could have held up long enough that Jason didn’t know there was no merc attack. It doesn’t add up.

A few minutes go by in silence. Dick starts purring again, mostly to self-soothe, then Marcel looks at Jason and says, “You didn’t answer my question.”

“What question?”

“Why did you break up?”

Dick answers before Jason has a chance to. “The Williams pack sniped me. Before I knew it, I had a pack bond, three mates, and my own pack had been assimilated into the Williams pack.”

“They sniped you?” Arvid asks. “That’s rude.”

“True. But my plan was to snipe Mar and Aid from them, so complaining would be throwing stones in a glasshouse,” Dick answers with a small smirk. Arvid sniggers and Marcel’s purr kicks up a notch.

* * *

There are Hales on guard when their truck finally rolls up alongside the walls around the estate. The Hales had only let their people be away for six months before they returned home en masse. It was pre-agreed before they even left New York that they’d help keep the Williams pack safe in exchange for the Williamses’ help keeping them out of jail. 

Dick rides up front to be seen. One of the Hales recognizes him, and the gates are opened to let them in without them having to stop and produce identification. Jane's already outside to meet them when the truck comes to a stop. Dick gets out and is surprised that he gets a tight hug and affectionate temple rubs in greeting. He hadn’t expected her to welcome him so warmly. "I'm so glad to see you alive and well," Jane says with troubled eyes. "And I'm glad to have you here. Things have been going on. Maybe I'm just paranoid after what you said at the last dinner, but something is off."

"Maybe hold your cheer, dear. I'm bringing trouble with me.”

“I know. Aiden told me. Is Captain Mattsson with you?”

Dick frowns in complete confusion. “Yes. Amongst others. How would _Aiden_ know?”

“He and Mar got to the Shurley camp about a day after the explosion, and he was assigned to investigate. He found a remote detonator with your scent all over it near the tent where Captain Mattsson was kept imprisoned. He jumped to conclusions and falsified a report of his findings to back the theory already going around that the mercenary company was the guilty party, but he told Jed his real suspicions and asked to be allowed to go after you. He came here two days ago, certain you would show up here.”

“Aiden’s here?” Dick asks, his heart suddenly fluttering nervously.

Jane smiles. “Yes. I’m surprised he hasn’t come down yet. He’s done nothing except pace between windows or perch on the wall since he got home.” Her face goes serious. “It was you who set up the explosion and freed the Captain, wasn’t it?” she asks, wanting the confirmation.

“Yes. And if you’re thinking of expelling me for it―” Dick starts saying but falls silent when Jane shakes her head.

“No. That would need an almost unanimous pack vote, which we wouldn’t get since we have at least two more pack members who would have gone in with guns ablaze to free the Captain themselves. Aiden also said that Captain Mattsson has always provided intel freely to us as long as it didn’t endanger his own company. So we can discuss the execution of the rescue at another time. For now, I’m glad you’re here. Like you said at dinner, we have problems at our doorstep, and I don’t think I would have taken them seriously if you hadn’t spooked us with your speech the way you did.”

“Oh dear. I hoped to be wrong.”

“All of us hoped that.”

"Jane, I made promises, deals, with the people who helped get me and Arvid here. I’m counting on you to help me uphold them. Amongst other things, I've promised all of them amnesty here with the same rules as the Conservatives under our roof, since all of them had to desert to get me here.”

“Naturally. If they can adhere to those rules they’re welcome. Desperate times demand desperate measures.”

“Is this a good time to stop pretending canvas is soundproof?” Arvid calls out from the truck. “I want to be introduced to the fair Main.”

Dick looks at the truck, lips pulling up in a corner. “That would be Captain Arvid Mattsson.”

Jane nods and goes towards the back of the truck. Dick holds up the canvas flap for her. Arvid, sitting closest, scents the air in Jane’s direction, then smiles widely and moves his head as if he’s giving her a once-over. “Wow. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes, fair Jane.”

“Dear kit, what have they done to you? I―” Jane’s gaze flutters over the other passengers in the truck, snagging on one person in particular. “ _Marcel_?”

Marcel smirks with a small nod of respect. “Dick’s been making deals since long before you sniped him, Miss Jane. I’m here fulfilling my part of an old bargain.”

“I wouldn’t call it sniping him,” Jane answers with a small, perturbed frown.

“Then you would be lying,” Marcel says smoothly. “This here is Gina, a Progressive who’s been driving us most of the way,” he says with a motion to the woman who’d switched places with Dick so he could be seen when they neared the estate. “Her partner, Jada, is currently in the driver’s seat.” He puts a hand on Jason’s shoulder. “And this is Jason Foster, a fellow New Yorker who went to college with Aiden and has saved Dick’s life three times by now if Dick’s to be believed.”

Marcel keeps talking, but Dick’s distracted by the entrance door flying open with a bang and someone thundering down the stone stairs. Dick turns towards the house to see Aiden take the stone stairs in huge bounds, running towards Dick with desperate focus. Dick’s breath catches at the sight of him, heart stuttering. Before Dick’s got his feelings in order, Aiden slams into him, hugging him too tightly, lifting him from the ground. Aiden presses his nose to Dick’s neck and takes deep inhales. Dick’s knees feel weak, his palms are sweaty. He wraps his legs around Aiden to hold himself up, and closes his lips around the gland behind Aiden’s ear to tongue it, then starts to siphon. Aiden is jubilantly happy, with notes of despair, sleep-deprivation, anxiety, and deep sorrow underneath. He’s in prime health, no aches or injuries, but hasn’t been eating quite as well as he should have. For a soldier who’s been in the field for months, he’s in excellent condition.

He sucks in a breath when he feels Aiden’s tongue against his own gland, immensely satisfied when Aiden siphons him back. Relief overtakes everything in Aiden’s scent for a few seconds, then, _anger_. Aiden leans away a few inches so he can scowl at Dick, cupping Dick’s cheeks, forcing him to hold up his own weight. “You _idiot_. What the heck were you thinking?! Mar is supposed to be the reckless fool in the pack. What if you’d gotten killed?! The heck were we supposed to do then?! How the heck did you get out of camp unseen?! What if someone would have seen you?! What if someone other than me had found the detonator?! You would’ve been hunted!”

“Oh, shush, kitty, and give me your nose,” Dick jokes with a serious voice and pulls Aiden’s face towards him to crush their mouths flush. Their teeth clack together, possibly giving both of them swollen lips but Dick doesn’t care. Aiden’s mouth is already open, poised to yell more, so Dick slips his tongue in. It’s like flipping a switch. Suddenly, it’s Aiden taking the lead, kissing with no finesse whatsoever but making up for it in desperation. His kisses are sloppy, hungry, and frantic. One of his arms go around to press their chests together, the other circles Dick’s ass, first to help hold Dick up, but soon they both smell of arousal, Dick’s cock straining and ass leaking slick, and Aiden’s nails start scraping against the mid-seam between Dick’s asscheeks.

Behind them, Arvid laughs. “Red, sorry to disappoint, but those are not Omega pants so you won’t get into them that way. And is this really the ideal time for a tonsil exam?”

Aiden stills and slowly withdraws from the kiss to lean his forehead against Dick’s, breathing roughly. Dick wants to whine in protest, but doesn’t, because Arvid is right. Time and place. Aiden swallows, takes a deep breath, opens his eyes, and leans his head to the side so he can look at Arvid. Dick can see his expression shift as if he’s clicking on a mask of charm just before his face comes into view of Dick’s companions. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Cap, I’m really glad to see you’re alive, but I’m not happy to see you.”

Arvid grins. “I, on the other hand, am happy to see you. Looking real good there, Red. I especially like what you’ve done with your hair,” he says and adjusts his crutches. He’s only supposed to use them to get from the bed to a nearby toilet or something like that. And even that is pushing it since both his hands and feet need to heal.

Aiden looks unsure and confused while Jason hides a snigger behind his hand and Marcel gets that nearly-there dimple in his cheek despite looking bored. 

“No, dear,” Dick says quietly, dropping down to stand on his feet. “He can’t actually see, but he’ll take any chance to make a joke based on his eye-blindness.”

“I can see just fine. But anytime I try to lift the bandages to sneak a peek, nurses materialize out of thin air to yell at me. One thing I’ve learned in life is not to challenge Alphas who’ve gone into full nurturing mode,” Arvid says with a grin firmly in place.

“You see ‘just fine’, do you?” Marcel says dryly.

“Sure. As in, the images my eyes see are as accurate and detailed as ever. That it feels like stabbing myself in the eyes with a broken bottle is another matter,” Arvid jokes.

“Well then. I think we should get ourselves inside,” Jane says. “You must be hungry and tired.”

Arvid starts hopping towards Aiden on his crutches but Marcel rounds him, bends his legs and hoists Arvid over his shoulder while Jason takes the crutches out of Arvid’s hands. Very reluctantly, Dick steps away from Aid, gives his cheek one last caress, and goes to join up with Jane to make requests about his companions’ needs.

* * *

“The rooms are ready, Mistress Jane, Master Dick,” Naomi says. Behind her, another Conservative O stands, quietly waiting. 

They’re in the kitchen by a table, all of them having eaten as if they hadn’t seen food in a decade, all while updating Jane and Sandra briefly of what’s happened to them. Jane gets up from her chair. “Great. Thank you, Naomi. Would you show our guests the way and help them get settled?”

“Yes, Mistress.” Naomi curtsies at Jane, getting a brief smile before Jane leaves them.

“Did you find the clothes?” Dick asks her while helping Arvid get up from his seat at the kitchen table.

“Yes, Sir. We put them in the wardrobes as you asked. If they don’t fit we’ll help adjust them over the week.”

“Excellent.” Dick turns to see all of his companions have gotten up, and Marcel’s in the process of lifting Arvid to carry him along. “Then let’s go.”

Naomi instructs the other Conservative to show the two Progs their rooms, then starts leading everyone else up the stairs. Dick could have done it himself since he’d requested the rooms, all of them in the same corridor as his own, but he follows along quietly. Arvid’s room is next to his, Marcel’s opposite two doors down, and Jason’s almost at the end of the corridor. When they get to the corridor on Dick’s floor, Dick says he’s going to show Jason his room himself and lets Naomi take care of Arvid and Marcel.

“This is my room,” Dick opens his door and shows Jason before leading him onward.

“Putting me up in a cupboard as far away from you as possible?” Jason asks dryly. A glance over Dick’s shoulder reveals Jason wearing an almost bored expression with an unimpressed smirk, trying to emulate Marcel. No doubt because he’s preparing himself to bump into another glass ceiling. But Dick’s had an idea.

“Hardly. If I wanted that, I’d have asked that you be placed somewhere near Gina and Jada.” Dick stops, unlocks the door with the key Naomi gave him, and holds out the key to Jason. “Packrunners are strange. They often forgo having their own rooms in favor of sharing, sometimes up to ten people in one room. Mostly they tend to sleep randomly with whoever they spent the last hours with, and instead have rooms solely with wardrobes for several people. It makes the interior of this home strange to someone like me who grew up alone.” He opens the door and steps aside to let Jason finally see.

Jason gives him a dubious look and steps inside, only to raise his eyebrows in surprise and turn towards Dick, nonverbally asking ‘What?’

Dick smiles coyly and goes inside, passing Jason. “You can, of course, get a smaller room if you prefer. Most rooms here, while big by our standards, aren’t really small. Almost all rooms in this corridor are empty since the pack split into two, which is why I chose my room here. I was overwhelmed by all the people and wanted privacy. Currently, the only person who lives in this corridor aside from me is a very old man who talks to himself. He can be a bit unsettling sometimes but he’s harmless.” He goes to the large wardrobe by the wall close to the bed. This was once one of the rooms that held ten people. More importantly, it once held a group of mates who relished luxury more than most of the Williamses these days. The polished, ornate, marquetry parquet flooring is an artwork all by itself. The bed is huge, there’s a large fireplace with a large couch and several armchairs facing it and huge oil paintings on the walls. There are beautiful chandeliers and the canopied bedframe is as gorgeous and as ornate as the floor, with gold inlays. The first time Dick saw it he’d had extremely complicated feelings about the sheer amount of fabric that had gone into the canopy. All the furniture pieces inside the room are equally luxurious, and the rug is large and thick. It’s a bit bare, since nobody has lived here for years and furniture has been taken for other rooms. “You can also change the furniture. The Williamses often buy new things, but rarely throw anything away, so you have the freedom to redecorate as you seem fit.”

Jason goes to the middle of the room and looks around with wide eyes without answering.

Dick opens the doors of the wardrobe to peek inside, checking if his hopes have held up. He goes to open the next door, and the next, closing each when he’s confirmed everything he wanted is there, then he turns around to face Jason again. “I don’t know if you heard, but I asked Jane if we had any castoffs to give you?” 

Jason nods sharply, eyes still wide. “I heard.”

Dick opens all the wardrobe doors wide so Jason can see the suits, the casual clothes, the sportswear, the coats, the shelves with undergarments, hats, and shoes. “These are yours. Not to borrow. They’re yours. And that door over there leads to a private bathroom,” he points at a door close to the entrance of the room.

Jason goes to open the bathroom door to look inside. Dick hasn’t checked, but he presumes Naomi and her crew have stocked up on towels, shaving gear, and anything else needed for personal hygiene. He has to clip his scent on and off to hide his anticipation while he waits. Jason comes back to stand in the middle of the hugely oversized room. He looks around, dragging a hand over his nose and mouth, then drops his hand to hone in on Dick with a tense expression. “Why?”

“The world is a cruel place to our kind,” Dick quotes Jason, but this time he isn’t talking about pelting. “I’ve given a lot of thought to the offer you once gave me. Both what was in it for me and you, and why you extended it.” He raises a hand to stop Jason from talking. “No. I’m not looking to mate you, so there’s no need to remind me that the offer’s off the table, dear. But trying to figure out who you are, I think you don’t want to climb out of the gutter, you want to reach the top. You want luxury - the very opposite of what you had in the orphanage or on the streets. You want what the Conservative Aristocrats have. Am I right?”

Jason wets his lips, he looks like he’s debating whether he should answer or not.

“I think I am,” Dick says. “But you discovered that they don’t want to share it with you no matter what you do. You found that out at college, trying to rub shoulders with them, you bumped into the glass ceiling once again. It had been raised higher, but it was still there. You realized they’d never let a Foster in, and started looking at the Primals and Packrunners with money instead. Now, if you just wanted a certain level of power and comfort, any pack where we grew up would take you. The Hales, Swifts, Jayhawks, the Boltons when they were still around, any of them would value you. But you want more than that. In New York, that left the Williams pack. You tried making friends with Aiden but soon discovered that he’s friendly, willing to buy drinks for and fool around with almost anyone, but he keeps the door firmly shut on those who seek to get at his riches. Then you saw me at the campus and realized I’d already cracked that door open. That was your chance. Your problem was that you knew I feared you, so getting close to me was hard. When you spotted me being attacked, you jumped at the chance to save me. It would make me grateful enough to hear you out and hopefully willing to wipe the slate clean.”

“Have you?” Jason asks suspiciously.

Dick sighs and shakes his head. “Not quite. Not yet. But I think I’d like to. I’m hoping you were honest with me when you offered a mateship. When you told me why you worked as a… doing what you did, and how you chose your, let's call it goods. You offered to move me in to get to know you. Maybe so you could manipulate me, or maybe because you had an inkling that letting me get to know you would be manipulation enough. I’m extending a similar offer. You’ll get the name you want. Perhaps, if you can wait for one of my mates to come home, a name of your own choosing. He’s got contacts within the intelligence service and can create a new identity for you if you wish. Williams might not be the name you want in the near future. But I want you to covet the Williams name. Therefore I want to give you the luxury you seek. To a degree. Unlike Aristocrats, Packrunners don’t usually leave work to servants. Even the richest Packrunner will clean, cook, and do repairs, so if it’s work you wish to shirk, you should keep your aim at the Aristocrats.”

“I’m not lazy. I’ve worked every single day of my life, one way or another,” Jason says, faint anger lacing through his scent even if his face remains neutral.

“I know.” Dick walks to stand directly in front of Jason. “Someone in the pack asked me why I didn’t come to them to get a job, not even realizing how firmly their own hired gatekeepers work to stop our kind from getting ahead. I’ve been told that I, or my parents, could have gone to any pack and asked them to adopt me as a kit and they would have. But I didn’t know that. These people, some of which I love to death, don’t understand the difference between being very hungry, and months of starvation. As much trauma as they’ve gone through, and mind you, they have, they can’t grasp survival when the only thing keeping you alive is pure spite and determination, for years on end. Most of them aren’t surprised that a Foster would go to college because they don’t understand the obstacles that were put in your way. I don’t hold their privilege against them. They were born into it, like we were born into strife. But I’d like to entice you to stick around as a Siderunner. I wish to see if we can develop a friendship. I want to have someone close to me who understands me. Not just someone who understands how I think, but what truly shaped my kind of thinking.”

After a brief pause, Jason leans forward, nuzzles Dick behind the ear to get him to secrete, then he licks, using his tongue cleverly, teasing in a way that has Dick’s belly swooping and his nethers taking notice. Jason leans away and siphons a couple of times. He meets Dick’s gaze. “You’re sincere,” he states.

“I am, yes. You’ve saved my life three times now. You deserve a chance.”

“You’re shit at math.”

“Dear me, but I really am,” Dick jokes with a coy smile. He counts that night when Jason chased him into the Sanctuary as the first time Jason saved him. The only reason he does that is because of Jason’s reaction to Aiden carrying Dick out of the club. There’d been no disappointment, only humor. The amused smirk and the ‘Well played, Skippy,’ is the greatest reason Dick believes Jason was telling the truth when he saved Dick from the mob. If he was telling the truth, then he set out to capture Dick that night to save him, even if it would have meant slavery for Dick.

Jason leans forward again, slipping a hand around Dick’s waist, nuzzling behind the ear before he once again tongues the gland. Dick closes his eyes and tilts his neck for better access. Jason siphons, then goes back to licking, hand on Dick's waist pulling them closer. Dick lets out a soft breath and licks Jason's neck, secretion running down the length of it, melting on Dick's tongue. Dick siphons. Jason's feelings are a mess, too complicated and contradictory for Dick to make sense of.

Dick opens his eyes to spot Aiden in the doorway, watching them with dark eyes and a grim expression. When Aiden spots Dick seeing him he flares, clicks a friendly mask into place, and clears his throat.

Jason turns his head to spot Aiden and steps away from Dick with a flustered chuckle. "We weren't doing… he just asked if we could get to know each other better. Nothing like _that_ going on." He chuckles again, eyelids heavy, and drags a hand through his hair. " _Phew_. I don't remember getting high this fast from doing this."

Aiden sniggers. "He has that effect. But if you aren't planning on escalating the activity anytime soon, I'd like to borrow Dick. Naomi won't let Marcel, the _Conservative_ Alpha, help wash Arvid."

"Oh dear. I bet Arvid finds that hilarious." Dick briefly puts his hand on Jason's wrist. "I'll leave you to wash up and explore your new belongings. I need to sort this out.”

Dick leaves the room, rounding Aiden then walking side by side with him. Aiden smells of faint anger and sadness that doesn’t show in his expression. “Are you jealous, dear? Afraid I’d sleep with him?”

“No. You’re adults. You can do whatever you want,” Aiden answers tersely. 

“Then tell me why you’re angry, dear,” Dick asks smoothly. It sure smells like jealousy.

Aiden frowns with a dissatisfied twist to his lips. “Like you don’t already know,” he answers and stops by Arvid’s door. He opens the door before Dick has a chance to answer and announces, “He’s here,” then looks at Dick. “Now if you excuse me, I have things to do,” he says, shoulders past Dick to stride down the corridor.

Sometimes Dick wants to punch him so badly it hurts.

Dick looks into the room to find Arvid sitting in a chair, trying to withhold sniggers, while Naomi and Marcel stand on either side of him, Naomi with her chin up and her arms crossed determinately over her chest. “Master Roman and I can handle it ourselves, so if you’d please vacate the room now, _Sir_ ,” she’s saying, the ‘Sir’ coming out like a whiplash.

Marcel lets out a disgusted sigh and holds up his hands in defeat. He turns and walks to the door where Dick’s standing, throws a look down the corridor at Aiden’s receding form. “Trouble in paradise?” he asks and lifts an eyebrow at Dick.

Dick sees it, the nearly-there dimple. The one that would burrow deep into Antoine’s cheek when he’d just thrown a verbal firecracker and sat back to watch the chaos unfold, trying to keep his face straight. Antoine’s dimple was deep and his provocative statements crude. In contrast, Marcel’s manipulations are subtle and his dimple faint. But Dick sees it. “You should know, dear, seeing as you caused it,” he answers smoothly. “Now...” Dick finishes the sentence with a dismissive handwave.

Marcel makes a face of mock-affront, but Dick steps inside the room and closes the door on him. He can deal with Marcel and Aiden at another time.

* * *


	26. The Second Bath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick and Jane disagrees on an important matter. It has a fortunate outcome. Dick finally learns why Aiden's so snippy about Dick and Jason.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer* - This happens before it gets widely known that smoking is bad for your health, so I'm not having anyone have qualms about smoking with children nearby.

* * *

"No, no, no. That's _not_ how it went down," Arvid protests. "Are you lying on purpose, or are you completely lacking self-awareness?" he asks Dick before directing himself at the others. All of them are nursing glasses of fine Cognac, sitting in a smoking room with furniture, that, in Dick’s opinion, isn’t nearly comfortable enough, considering the price tag. "We did _not_ get out of the camp on blind luck, and we weren't undetected. We got out of camp without anyone understanding that I wasn’t one of them because Donny has nerves of steel and is well-respected and trusted. Right after the explosion, there were lots of people milling about where he wanted to go, and anytime someone came too close he popped out of hiding to shout orders or false information based on the rank of the potential threat to us, sending them away from us. He even had a medic throw him a syringe of morphine while he told her to go to the site of the explosion and told her he’d take care of me, stopping her from coming close enough to see that I was sharded. By the time we got out of the hot zone, he’d both collected enough clothing for me to make me appear as an American at first glance and diverted at least 23 people to go in the wrong direction. We weren’t undetected at all, and if he hadn’t kept a cool head and been so respected by the other soldiers we’d never have made it out of the hot zone.”

“We got witness accounts of people who swear they’d seen Dick help at the site right after the explosion. Someone said Dick had warned him about having seen enemy soldiers to the north and that backup was needed. That’s the last mention of him so the general conclusion was that he’d been taken. Most of the search efforts were directed that way. Your guys camp out to the north?” Aiden says and directs the last question to Arvid then takes a puff on his cigar.

“I don’t know where they are now, but at the time I was taken the answer would have been no. Donny didn’t send your men to clash with mine,” Arvid answers. 

The toddler in Dick’s arms purrs in her sleep and shifts to burrow her nose by his shoulder. His heart had stopped when he’d seen Anna and she’d lit up with a delighted ‘Ick!’ and come running to be picked up. He knows he should probably feel the same attachment to Jed’s and Sean’s kits, but his heart had chosen Anna.

All the kits had instantly taken to Jason but regarded Arvid with suspicion. Dick found it strange, but when Jason crouched down to talk to the kits with warmth and patience, it had triggered Dick’s memory of the Snatcher that took him. It was kindness and understanding that had lured him in. The Snatchers who aimed to do a grab and run never stood a chance with him. So maybe it wasn’t odd that Jason within minutes lay on the floor with delighted, laughing kits climbing all over him. Dick had to clip-clip-clip his scent to hide how it made him nauseous with misgivings. But he’d decided to give Jason a chance and Jason seemed like a guy who’d be risk-averse enough not to try to sell the kits to slavery.

Marcel was also promptly accepted by the kits, albeit as an authority figure. He didn’t change his voice or use kitty-talk to talk to them, but he crouched down to introduce himself to each and every one of them, talking for a few minutes each with them to get to know them. Marcel had also greeted the Conservative servants individually. They thought he was Conservative due to the star he wore. He’d told them to either wear their tokens of faith covered in blood or hidden on the inside of their clothes. It had caused grumblings but since he’s an older, high-ranking Alpha, all had hidden their stars. Dick doesn’t have words to express how grateful he is.

Naomi helped Dick wash Arvid and when they both stood bent down on either side of the bathtub her pendant had swung out to hit Dick in the face. Dick thought he hid his emotions rather well, but Arvid’s been instantly alarmed by the shift in Dick’s scent. Naomi, shamefaced, put her pendant in a pocket. Dick thinks he needs to talk to her someday, but he’s not looking forward to opening up to yet another person he barely knows.

“...almost lost your trail when the snow came. Even when I could smell you, I couldn’t find a darn trail and had to zig-zag and circle to find where the scent was coming from. I didn’t get why until I smelled you on a tree,” Aiden says directed to Arvid and puffs on his cigar. “It was much easier when there were visible clues every 200 feet or so.”

Arvid laughs and gives Dick a playful shove, startling him back from his thoughts. He’s missed some of what’s been said. 

Arvid sniggers. “He was carrying his backpack full of scentblockers on his chest and me on his back. He kept falling, hurting both of us. But when the snow came he tied two ropes around me and used them to swing me from tree to tree so as not to leave tracks. I’m telling you, this guy’s a gods be damned monkey.”

“Isn’t that more work?” Jane asks, bemused, she too with a sleeping kit on her lap.

“Different muscles,” Jason states. He’s also puffing on a cigar. Dick and Marcel favor cigarettes even when cigars are offered. Trust Jason to greedily go for the costly stuff when it’s an option. Not that Dick blames him. It _is_ an option, and Dick wants Jason to understand that. Dick has plans for Jason. Sure, they’re dependant on beating the Aristocrats in power first, but that means more time to ensure Jason’s loyalty first.

Dick chips in. “The ropes did most of the carrying for me after that point. I only had to jump to the next tree, pull Arvid high enough to clear the ground when he swung, jump back and release the first rope. Jumping back and forth between things is something I’ve done all my life.”

“What happened by the river?” Aiden asks. “I found blood and signs of a struggle.”

Arvid grins. “Your boy ate my Commander.”

Dick rolls his eyes.

“What do you mean, _ate_?” Aiden asks with a small frown, putting his cigar on the ashtray, and sipping his drink.

“He means, I bit him and swallowed the chunk I tore off,” Dick answers tiredly.

Aiden’s frown deepens. He puts his glass on the table and scratches the back of his neck uncertainly. “What? Like fabric from his clothing...?”

Dick shrugs. “That too. I didn’t exactly have time to separate the jacket from the edible flesh, so it all went down.”

Aiden stares at Dick blankly for a few seconds, then he suddenly goes so pale he almost looks green, and gags. He slaps a hand over his mouth and gags again. “Excuse me for a bit,” he says and gets up from his armchair to run towards the nearest toilet.

Dick can’t help the laughter bubbling up inside of him. He’s not the only one. But nobody laughs harder than Marcel. When he finally collects himself, he supports his elbow on the armrest of the armchair, his chin in his palm, and grins at Dick, eyes warm and appreciative. When Dick raises an eyebrow at him, he winks.

Aiden comes back, and they can smell he’s thrown up. He sits down, face ashen, and downs his cognac. “Okay. You _ate_ the Commander. Not all of him, I surmise, or there would have been a bigger mess. What happened?”

Dick starts telling them about disposing of Arvid, dosing him in scentblockers and going to scout, coming back to realize he’d been gone too long, and then turning around to find a Primal soldier stalking him. He tells them about the fight but at the end, Arvid takes over and says the Commander did something to spook Dick so he decided it was a good idea to throw themselves into the river despite not being able to swim. Arvid’s rendition of the river run is hilarious enough that nobody seems to think to ask what spooked Dick. Dick wonders if Arvid’s tale serves an alternate purpose, preventing the others from learning that the Commander is a Siberian. He’ll respect it, for now, but he’ll inform Jane, Sandra, and Aiden later. 

“I followed the river, looking for your bodies, but had to divert to an American camp to seek shelter when the snowstorm hit. Took me a week to find where you’d holed up,” Aiden tells them. “I followed your tracks to a bear den where a Jeep picked you up.”

“That’s where Jason found us and got Marcel to help,” Dick supplies.

“I lost your trail where the Jeep had gone onto a major road. By then I was already in America and jumped to conclusions about where you were heading. So I alerted Jed of my findings and came home to wait.”

“So what’s been going on here while we’ve been away?” Dick asks.

Jane signs and rubs a hand over her face. “Bureaucracy. Never in my life have I seen so many laws change so quickly. We’re paying a secretary down in City Hall to tip us off before the laws are declared officially. Thanks to her, we managed to get a heads up in time to get most of our funds out of the bank in time. As it is, an Alpha’s signature is needed to validate anything an O signs. That means Sandra can no longer run the company. I asked Phillip to sign but he refused. He yelled, ‘Do I look like a man who hops on a leg when a Conservative asks?’ and chased me out of the room. Though, the most troublesome law is that a pack is to be judged as a cohesive unit now.”

“That’s a declaration of war if I ever saw one,” Marcel states dryly.

“How?” Jason asks.

“It takes only one pack member to commit a crime for them to claim all members are criminals and arrest us. If they find out what Dick did, every single Williams might find themselves arrested and executed for treason,” Marcel explains and reaches for a crystal decanter on the side table to refill his glass.

“I don’t think that’s their intention,” Sandra says. “Honestly, if they’d arrest every pack member for the crime one member committed, they’d soon run out of prisons. Just look at the Hales. They’re around 1000 people strong now. And packs would put up a fight.”

“So they’re setting up the board for something else,” Marcel concludes. “I stand by my opinion. To judge every pack as a cohesive unit is a declaration of war they’re hoping will go unnoticed.”

Jane looks down at the kit on her lap with a line of concern between her brows. She reeks of anxiety. “I think it’s time to put the kits to bed. Maybe we should continue this discussion tomorrow after you’ve gotten a chance to read all the laws they’ve changed,” she says and gets up, adjusting the kit against her chest. Dick shares a look with Marcel and Aiden, noting that Marcel looks very displeased. 

Sandra sighs. She stands up and takes Anna from Dick. “So be it then. You boys help yourself to anything you need. I’ll see to it that you have all the paperwork by the time you wake up tomorrow.”

Dick follows Jane and Sandra with his gaze as they leave the room. It doesn’t sit well with him that Jane avoided addressing Marcel’s statement. It doesn’t sit well with him _at all_.

* * *

Dick’s got trouble sleeping. He gets up carefully so he won’t wake Arvid. He heads downstairs to get a cup of warm milk and a sandwich. He eats the sandwich, looking out of a window, standing on the cold stone floor and watching the Hale guards move outside in the moonlight. There’s a niggling unrest that’s been eating at him since they got home. He tries telling himself it’s seeing Jason play with the kits and the unabashed trust they show him, but he knows deep down that’s not it. A good reason would be all the paperwork he’d been pouring over together with Marcel and Arvid, reading all the new laws out loud so Arvid could follow along. There are _a lot_ of them. Some seem small and inconsequential, but Marcel says they aren’t. He says laws like that are made to cover up loopholes in bigger laws. Basically, what they’re looking at is a jigsaw puzzle where they don’t have all the pieces yet. It’s definitely a reason to feel uneasy, but Dick doesn’t think that’s it either. Things are moving too fast. He doesn’t remember things happening this fast. Maybe that’s it? This frequent state of Deja vú that forces him to remind himself that none of it has actually happened yet. Or maybe it’s Jane's stress and unwillingness to act. She admits that she can see that something is going on, but she still doesn't want to 'provoke'.

Dick sighs. He’s got his scent hidden. There’s a certain comfort in silently sneaking around like a ghost at night, leaving no scent trail of his restless insomnia.

He goes to wash his cup then silently goes back up. He considers going to bed in his own bed instead of Arvid’s but quickly rejects it. Arvid sleeps better when he has company. For a mad minute, he considers tracking down Aiden to force him to go through with what he started when they greeted each other at the homecoming. He refrains, but only because he thinks they should talk before that. Aid’s still pissy since he caught Dick and Jason siphoning each other. He doesn’t act pissy per se, but he’s got an emotional barrier up. Dick knows the signs. So he should get Aid alone to talk.

Dick goes to Arvid’s room and slinks in as silently as he can.

Then he sees it. The dark silhouette of an unknown man between him and the bed. He instantly flares and drops fangs. “Lay one finger on him and you die.”

The man spins around and flares, big fangs bared, glinting in the moonlight coming in from the window. The flare’s very distinctive. White, with catty pupils and black scleras. “Eat me,” he taunts.

Dick relaxes marginally, quenching down the fear. “Oh, it’s you, Commander. I’ve been waiting for you to show up. We need to talk.”

“ _Mrrt_?” Arvid asks sleepily.

Both Dick and the Commander purr soothingly. Arvid’s scent bursts with happiness. He sits up. “The guys okay, Commander?”

“We lost Weber, and Bohacz got shot in the leg. Everyone else is fine,” the Commander answers without taking his eyes off Dick. He looks ready to attack, but he remains still, passively waiting for Dick to decide the level of violence.

“Bummer. But at least Hammer and Dooley are alive. They owe me money.” Arvid grins. “ _They’ve_ put money on you not being human. Can’t wait to tell them you’re just another species.”

Dick reaches out to flip the light switch, finally getting a good view of the Commander. He looks to be around 50, tops, despite the short, silvery hair. He’s tall, compact, broad shoulders, muscular, with slightly slanted eyes and tanned skin. He’s wearing a uniform that, startlingly, has almost the same color and pattern as Dick’s fur. City camo, Dick realizes.

“How did you know I’m Siberian?” the Commander asks Dick.

“I’ll tell you later. Did you hurt anyone to get in? Anyone killed?”

“You better not have,” Arvid grumbles.

The Commander shakes his head. “No. Blind cubs on the wall not see me.”

Dick relaxes another notch. “Excellent. Then I’ll have no problem convincing my pack you’re an invited guest of mine,” he says and releases his scent. “I won't allow the Captain to leave the premises until he’s healed up. Meanwhile, I wish to inquire about the price of your services. The Conservatives in power are seeking to eradicate us Packrunners. They’ve sent all of us away to fight in Canada so they can undermine us at home undisturbed. As such, this is the time to scrap our no-merc policy.”

Arvid smells excited. “Commander? How long do we have on our current contract? When the guys find out exactly what’s going on in America, they’ll be gagging for us to take the offer. We’ll have other companies trying to underbid us in price.”

“I can get other companies too?” Dick asks. That hadn’t occurred to him. He knew Arvid’s company would come for him, but he hadn’t thought further than that.

“How bad is it?” the Commander asks, risking taking his eyes off Dick to throw a look at Arvid.

“Everything you said would happen? It’s worse. Much worse,” Arvid says, looking grave even with most of his face hidden behind gauze.

The Commander looks back at Dick. “Then you can get all of us. For price, yes, but discount for cause.”

Dick smirks. “Lovely. I think proper introductions are in order,” he purrs, and tilts his neck invitingly. The Commander lets his fangs shrink, only teething his canines a bit before he closes his mouth and approaches. Dick tampers down panic about exposing his neck to someone with poisonous snake-fangs. "You know, if you'd let us know who you were, I never would have bitten you. I hope I didn't ruin the use of that arm," he says, mostly to soothe his own nerves.

"Is fine. If I could smell you, I know you as Mattsson’s friend and say hi. Not stalk like enemy, yeah?” the Commander says before bending forward to scent Dick. He’s very polite about it, keeping the tip of his nose from touching Dick. Once he’s scented he releases his scent and gives Dick access to his own neck. He’s got a strange scent. Not unpleasant, only odd, like human mixed with sun warm pine needles. He’s got a faint trace of chronic pain, but mostly he smells healthy and prosperous. Dick holds back the urge to press his nose against the gland to rub, to figure out why he smells so strangely. It’s not because he’s a Siberian. The Bolton Main had been Siberian and smelled perfectly normal. Dick leans back again.

The Commander’s accent is heavily broken Russian. To avoid miscommunication, Dick switches to speak Russian himself. “ _May I suggest you sit down on the bed? Arvid and I can tell you everything we know about the current situation in America right now. Then, afterwards, we can discuss the contract,_ ” he says in his own, flawless Russian. 

The Commander smells pleased and agrees.

* * *

“ _Richard._ You can’t hire mercenaries without consulting us first,” Jane hisses, her anger threatening to make Dick sneeze. Sandra, who’s sitting nearby watching them, twitches her nose at the sting and rocks Anna in her arms. Anna grumbles discontentedly in her sleep.

“I appreciate your input, but I was told I could do whatever I wanted with the money I was given, and I’ve only spent my own funds. I’d recommend you take Aleksandr’s advice and hire the rest of the companies as well.” Dick doesn’t budge. 

“Out of the question. We agreed we would do nothing to provoke the Conservatives. Hosting a private army on our land will definitely cause them insult.” Sadly, the private army won’t magically appear just yet. Most of them are still in Canada and Commander Aleksandr Chaadayev (According to Arvid, the Commander changes his name at irregular intervals and that’s why most simply call him Commander.) has to conclude his business there before he can bring his company here.

“The Williams pack _is_ a private army unto itself,” Dick feels compelled to point out. He mentally shakes himself to stay on topic. “We agreed not to provoke them unless they aggressed on us first, which they have, by making a law that says they can execute Anna for treason because I deserted and killed a few American soldiers to do so.”

“It’s ridiculous, Richard. They wouldn’t do that and you know it. Nor would they arrest a whole pack for the crimes of one. Even if they wanted to, they’d lack the manpower. They’re not stupid.”

“They might not be, but you, clearly, are. What they would or wouldn’t do isn’t important. It’s what they _can_ do. The moment they turned the law into a weapon, whoever comes to power can use it as they please. And that particular law has the same effect as outright outlawing Packrunning. You’re seeing it happen and still you stand there, saying ‘they wouldn’t’ while they already have. Not taking any action at this stage is suicide. If you were only gambling with your life, or, by all means, yours and mine, I might have let you hold the course. But you’re betting Anna’s life. Hence, I had to act.”

“Richard, you―” Jane starts saying sternly, but cuts off abruptly when Dick starts growling a rank challenge. He’s keeping his calm as well all he can, clip-clip-clipping his scent to hide how furious he is. When he first got here he’d never have considered challenging her. But he’s learned a lot about leadership in the army, both by leading and taking orders from superiors. It doesn’t matter that he still doesn’t know the name of every pack member. He doesn’t have to know them all to keep their best interest at heart at this level of threat. Jane exchanges a look with Sandra, who’s following along with keen interest, appearing unsurprised by the development. Jane looks back at Dick. “Are you sure about this?”

Without letting up his growl, he nods. “Yes. You’re too uncertain. We’re down to basic survival and you refuse to acknowledge that. We need a sure leader, not someone who wants to wait, hoping the enemy is only pretending to be an enemy. Two days ago we radioed a coded message to the nearest military outpost. Not a single pack member has made contact since. That means that either our message was stopped from reaching them, or their response was intercepted.” He pauses to see Jane press her lips to a troubled line. “If you think for a minute I’d sit silently and hold my tongue when my mates and their kits are threatened, you’re mistaken. I’m committed to my follies and this is the hill I die on.”

Jane holds his gaze for an en extended time, a troubled wrinkle between her brows. Then, she lets out a deep sigh of defeat, averts her face, and licks her lips. The anger in her scent dissipates into anxiety.

Startled, Dick blinks and tilts his head in confusion. “Are we not supposed to fight, dear?”

Jane’s lips quirk up in the corners and Sandra smiles openly. Sandra beats Jane to answer. “Most rank shifts are peaceful, Dick. We’ve known since the day you refused to let Jane cement your bond that this day would come."

Jane nods. "I was chosen, because I was what the pack needed. But you might be right that I'm not the ideal leader for the situation. I don't know, and that's why I forfeit," Jane says. "I hope you'll still listen to our opinions and advice."

"Naturally, dear. As long as your advice doesn’t put us all at risk."

Jane nods. She lifts her chin proudly and walks up to Dick. Then she leans in and siphons him to initiate bonding sex.

Dick finds it strange how pack-rank works. Not only had he anticipated that he’d have to fight for the rank of Main, but it turns out Sandra is still the Second. She and Jane cemented that rank shift right after Dick and Jane were done, while Dick sat holding the still sleeping Anna, watching in bemusement. Apparently, it’s about suitability. Jane thinks Sandra is far more suited to be the Second in this situation since she’s been a soldier for a good chunk of her life. Dick’s respect for Jane skyrockets. If anything, this proves that whatever happens, she has the good of the pack in mind even when she’s uncertain of what the right thing to do is.

It’s an odd feeling to step into the dining hall at lunch, and, as instructed, loudly declare himself to be the Main of the Williams pack. It’s custom, both so everyone knows who their leader is and to give anyone the opportunity to issue a rank challenge. Nobody does.

The upcoming week is tense. First Dick, Sandra, and Jane negotiate the deal with Commander Aleksandr. Jane thinks that if they’re going to hire mercs they’re doing it out of pack funds, not Dick’s private funds. The Demon is to return to Canada, finish his business with the Union, contact the other mercenary companies to let them know what’s going on in the US, inform them that there’s a potential contract to be had if they want to fight for a cause they believe in for once, and deliver letters to the Williams pack. Dick writes every letter by hand, penning a simple message that isn’t exactly coded. Dick’s read many, many letters for people who can’t read and write. He knows the phrases are very much in line with what a Conservative might write, standard sentences in many letters. Of course, any Williams who gets the letter would go ‘what the everloving―?!’ Sandra assures him that if she’d gotten a letter like that while at the front, she’d been rushing home as fast as her legs could carry her. 

“ _Hello, dear._

_The Star is shining brightly on us here in New York. Overwhelmed and awed by the Star’s blessings, our knees bow to its power. I hope this letter finds you in good health. I miss you. Can’t wait to see you again._

_All my love, Richard Williams - Main of the Long Island Williams Core_ ”

He writes ‘our knees bow’ instead of ‘we bend our knees’ to try to paint a picture of legs buckling under a weight. He thinks the letters aren’t too incriminating, should one end up in the wrong hands. He signs with Richard Williams since everyone out-pack who knows him in the military knows him as Dick Roman. After that, it’s out of his hands. All that’s left to do is hope his pack gets the message and comes home.

He reads a backlog of newspapers to catch up and notices a disturbing trend. Not in the news reported, but by whom. Anyone writing an article critical of the government never writes another article again. Even some journalists trying to report accurate and unbiased information suddenly have their names disappear from future publications.

He goes through heaps of business-related paperwork to get an in-depth grasp of what’s happening on that front. He’s not presumed to be able to understand it all. Sandra and Aiden help explain best they can, and, ultimately, make the decisions needed after getting greenlit by Dick.

Marcel is afforded a great deal of respect from the pack. It puzzles Dick, but when he asks about it, Sandra smiles and answers, “He’s a Patriarch and an invited guest. You’ve confirmed that he’s an ally. Of course, we’re going to treat him with the respect he deserves.” It gives Dick something to mull over. How can he be a Patriarch if he’s alone? The question makes Aiden laugh. “Dick, you’ve been a Main for as long as I’ve known you and you've been alone. Why shouldn’t he be a Patriarch? Everyone above him in rank has died."

Marcel decides his job is to teach when he isn't acting like an advisor. Dick finds him giving the Conservatives reading lessons, teaching Naomi more advanced topics, and, most surprisingly, giving Jason riding lessons on one of the pack's horses.

Jason can be found socializing with everyone, frequently helping with anything that needs doing. He slinks in to share lessons from Marcel with Naomi, and helps her out teaching the kits. He helps repair stuff, helps Jane cook with the enthusiasm of someone who actually enjoys cooking and suddenly has a ton of new, unfamiliar ingredients to play around with. He shows interest in _everything_. Although, the library stresses him out. “Where the hell do I begin? I don’t have this much time. How do I know which books are must-reads?” he answers when Dick asks. Dick puts copies of Mar’s books in his hands and tells him that while living here, he should read them. Apart from that, Dick’s as stumped as he is. The more time Dick spends with Jason, the better he gets at reading him. Jason _isn’t_ a naturally outgoing person. He prefers the company of one or two people at a time. When he’s hung out with a larger group of people, he needs to withdraw to recharge. Just like Aiden, he slips on a mask to socialize. But in his case, Dick thinks it’s a desperate attempt of trying to make someone, anyone, care about him. Aiden on the other hand, is outgoing. Even when Aiden seeks solitude he’ll do it in the vicinity of others, like curling up on an armchair to read in the corner of a room where people are already forgathered. Dick spends a night in Jason’s bed. They lie talking for hours, getting to know each other before they finally fall asleep.

Aiden acts… pissy. His version of it, anyway. He answers any questions Dick might have and helps out. He's polite and charming but he's wearing his mask. Sometimes he drops the mask and snarks prissily and acts grumpy, and sometimes Dick catches him smelling a little bit angry and sad. It's driving Dick mad. Especially since he catches Aid throwing a lot of surreptitious glances at him if they’re in the same room, eyes darting away anytime he notices Dick seeing him look. It needs to stop.

* * *

Dick opens the door and slinks in. His heart beats rapidly from fluttering nerves. He’s only wearing a towel. The air in the bathroom is hot and humid, not doing anything to alleviate his Heat symptoms. “Hello, dear. I’m in the mood for a bath.”

Aiden opens his eyes and looks at him, the back of his head resting on the edge of the tub. “I just got in. There are other bathrooms.”

Great. He’s grumpy again. Sometimes Dick wants to punch him. “I prefer this one.”

“In that case, you’ll have to wait for an hour or so. I’m not getting up.” Punch him _hard_.

“Oh, hardly. I prefer this one because it comes with the desired company,” Dick says with a small smirk and holds up the champagne bottle before he turns and locks the door. “Besides, I got a letter from you where you asked us to lock ourselves in a room and resolve our problems. That was quite some time ago and we still haven’t had that talk.” He walks towards the bathtub while opening the bottle, careful not to let the cork shoot off. “You’ve avoided being alone with me since I came home. I won’t stand for it. Besides, you were the one to introduce me to baths, and I’ve found it’s not as enjoyable if you’re not in the tub with me.” He puts the bottle down beside the tub, drops his towel, and grips the edge of the tub to get in. Aiden looks sour but sits up to give Dick the space he needs.

The water is scalding, so Dick has to take his time to get in, one leg after the other slowly lowered into the water, then he holds himself up on the edges of the tub, carefully lowering his body inch by inch until he’s sitting with his back to Aiden’s chest. Aiden’s arms circle him to hold him close, but when Dick twists his neck to kiss him Aiden shows his teeth and growls ‘ _don’t_ ’. Dick sinks back to simply rest against him. “So, dear, let’s talk. You’ve avoided being alone with me since I came home, and you’ve smelled jealous every time you’ve seen me speak to Jason.”

“I’m not jealous.”

“Very well. But not a day has gone by while we were apart, that I didn’t miss you. Now we’re sharing the same home and I’m still missing you. I’d like to know why that is. Our problems have always been that we don’t talk things through. So talk to me.”

Aiden is quiet for a moment, scent going from neutral to having undertones of anger and sadness. “I thought we had something,” he says at last, tone bitter. “We fought a lot, yes, but I still thought we had something. I trusted you. I told you things I don’t tell just anyone. I was under the impression that you gave me the same trust in return. Then it turns out you dated _Big Jay_ ,” he pronounces the name bitterly, like he’s been told where the nickname comes from and doesn’t like it, “a guy at my college, and didn’t bother making a single mention of that to me. Not a peep about something that significant. And I just… I just…”

Dick suppresses a groan. “Marcel told you Jason and I used to date?”

“Yes,” Aiden grumps.

“It isn’t true.”

“Oh, come on. I’m not blind. I see you two together. You move like you’ve been working together for years. You’ve got private jokes. And when Sebastian accidentally toppled that bookcase and you two ducked into hiding, you moved as if you’d pre-coordinated the action.” Sebastian is one of the kits and the crash had happened in another room, not the one where Dick and Jason were, but both of them reacting with the same gut-level instinct to the sound of a sudden crash. 

“There’s a very good explanation for that, but dating isn’t the reason. On the truck ride home, Marcel got bored, jumped to the same conclusion you did, and asked why we broke up. I played along since I was equally bored. Jason and I do have a history of a sorts, but it’s a much more antagonistic one. He’s saved my life three times―”

“He says it’s two.”

“Yes, but I’m crediting him with all the times he’s been the catalyst for life-saving changes for me, and that makes three. I’ll tell you why we move in tandem and react in the same way. We share a very similar past. He too grew up an orphan on the streets with nobody to look out for him. That’s also why you think we have private jokes. We don’t, but with our past, we find humor in things all you privileged people around us can’t see. And when I use the term privileged, I’m talking about people with parents and Primaries to care for them.” Dick twists around so they’re chest to chest. He looks at Aiden’s troubled face, trying not to drown in his beautiful, hazel-green eyes. “Can you give me a promise of secrecy, Aid? I want to tell you the truth, but I need you to not tell anyone else, as that might endanger Jason’s life. And I also need you to not judge him for what he’s done in the past. Give him a chance to prove himself, just like you’ve given me a chance.”

“Okay? I promise.”

“The first time Jason saved my life, he did so by chasing me into the Sanctuary, where I met you.”

“But you said you were chased by―”

“I was chased by Snatchers, yes.”

Aiden’s troubled frown is traded for a surprised expression. 

Dick goes on. “Jason has rules he keeps. He only takes people, kits, who are on the brink of dying. For them, slavery can be life-saving. He never takes anyone who has bonds of any kind. He’d seen me wash over a barrel of water and spotted my Omega gland leaking. He knew adults don’t live long when alone and scentless. Then I was hit with a string of bad luck, so the day he tried to snatch me, I might very well not have lived long without his interference. He waited for hours in the rain for me, but when you came out carrying me, he left with an amused wink as if his job there was done. I’m basing my treatment of him on that reaction, since the only thing I was to him at that point, was a paycheck, and he was content, despite the discomforts he’d been put through trying to catch me, walking away with nothing.”

“And that forgives him for being a Snatcher?” Aid asks, looking unconvinced. He’s back to smelling neutral.

“Not quite. He told me…” Dick tells Aiden what Jason told him about his friend Jared, about getting nabbed by the cops, the time spent in the orphanage, escaping, and trying to free Jared. “...after Jared had gushed about how well he had it, he tried to convince Jason to join him there. But to Jason and me, slavery is worse than death. We crave freedom. So I can relate to the sheer feeling of betrayal Jason felt when Jared started calling for the guards at the top of his lungs.”

“Why would he do that?” 

“I suppose because Jared wanted his best friend to be with him, and Jason said no,” Dick says and shrugs, a move made awkward in the tight space. “The guards and a few Snatchers that had just made a delivery tried to catch him. One almost did. Jason had crawled backward into a large pipe, and a Snatcher crouched down to lock gaze with him. Jason was stuck. He couldn’t get further in. He shook his head in denial, bared his fangs and hissed. To him, it felt like the stalemate went on forever, but eventually, other men came running and that first Snatcher stood up and told them he was gone, and that he’d smelt a pack bond on Jason so it was no use chasing him. To Jason, that lie confused him for three years. Why would a Snatcher lie to protect him?”

“Did he ever find out why?”

“Mhm. A few years went by and Jason saw the Snatcher again. Apparently, Covin, that was his name, considered slavery to be a last resort, and he’d estimated that in Jason’s case, that would have killed his spirit instead of saving him. Covin became Jason’s mentor. He’s dead now, but just like for me, it took a single act of kindness to win Jason over. I think… he and I, we had very few choices, growing up. We took the opportunities presented to us and did the best we could. You might have experienced the same amount of trauma in your life, but you had a security net to catch you when you fell, and almost limitless choices. I guess I'm curious to see what Jason will do if he's presented with the same freedom of choice. It's…" Dick falls quiet, trying to find the right words for his feelings. Aiden looks thoughtful, fingers moving in a slow caress over Dick's back.

Dick takes a deep breath and goes on. "You know how in many Conservative stories, the villain has to earn a redemption arc? They have to suffer in equal or greater proportion to the suffering they caused others before they can be redeemed. They might have tragic backstories, but it's, if not stated outright, heavily implied that they're born bad and can't change. Have you noticed that?"

"Now that you mention it, yes, I guess I have. I've never paid it much mind, though."

"But I have, dear. I've spent a great deal of time reading books since I was drafted. Early evening when we had downtime, I enjoyed reading to those I shared sleeping quarters with. And over and over I came across stories that demanded the villains be horribly punished before they could begin to earn the possibility to change. The stories made it out to look like the villains were born evil and that they deserved everything bad and traumatic that ever happened to them. Rarely did these stories acknowledge that the very reason the villain turned bad was all the horrors they had to live through."

"Okay?"

"If that's the truth, that it's decided from birth whether we're good or bad, and that only people who have done no harm to anyone deserve to be redeemed, where does that leave people like me and Jason? Unwanted and unloved from the start, constantly facing choices where we can only survive if we hurt others. It's… I don't know. I'd like to think that given a chance, even we can be good. Even a Snatcher. But unlike me, Jason's so bitter."

Aiden sniggers. "Unlike you, huh?"

"Yes."

Aiden laughs, a small burst of happiness in his scent. He hugs Dick tighter. "Kitty, _nobody_ has ever given me as much crap about being born privileged as you have. So you're bitter, alright," he grins.

Dick's about to argue, but decides that maybe he's a little bit bitter. "Jason's worse," he says instead. "And he wants money, luxury, and riches. It’s not what he _needs_ , but I was thinking, if I give him what he wants, what he’s spent his whole life being prevented from getting, then maybe he’ll be open to accept what he needs as well, which is friendship, genuine care, and respect. If he gets that, I think we can harness that fire and determination inside of him to our advantage.” 

“You have any plans on how to win him over?”

“Not really. I figured putting him with the pack and telling them he saved my life would be enough. The pack will do the rest unless he acts like a complete jerk.”

Aiden chuckles. “I’m sure he won’t. He came to parties we threw at the Alpha House fairly often. I’ve talked to him on several occasions. He’s a nice, sociable guy. I’ll help you win him over. But if Mar finds out what he’s done, then my brother will kill him.”

Dick’s thought of that. He’s hoping he can get Mar to like Jason before they drop the bomb. “Hopefully not. I’ve got plans. Mar wants to destroy the snatching business. Who better to help him but a man who has inside knowledge?”

“That could work,” Aiden agrees. They’re both quiet for a while. Aiden rubs a thumb over Dick’s cheek. “But you had sex with him,” he states, lifting his eyebrows to make it a question. “Don’t think I didn’t notice just because you were busy bleeding out in front of me.”

“Only once. Is that a problem?” Dick answers defensively.

Aiden chuckles and places a kiss on his forehead. “No, sweetheart. It’s not a problem.” He looks content and his eyes are warm. Finally.

“Speaking of sex…” Dick starts, nerves returning with a vengeance. “I want to show you a secret. Arvid, Jason, and Marcel already know out of necessity, but I haven’t shown anyone else.”

“Okay?”

“I was thinking… Since I’m in Heat…”

Aiden flares, lips pulling up in a lopsided, amused smirk. “Uh-huh?” he says as if he knows exactly where this is going.

“And since you don’t like my scent…” Dick goes on. Aiden’s amusement is traded for a frown. Dick puts a finger over his mouth to shush him when he looks like he’s about to say something. “I’ve learned a trick, dear. So maybe you can do me the favor of knotting me without being bothered by my scent.” Aiden’s frown gets deeper. Fearing rejection, Dick hides his scent.

" _Athena!_ " Aiden’s reaction is instant. His eyes go wide, cheeks paling, scent souring of fear and distress. He sits up abruptly, water sloshing over the tub, one arm around Dick’s back, the other grabbing Dick’s neck, thumb under Dick’s chin tilting it up. Aiden’s _terrified_.

Dick chuckles, releasing his scent again. He thinks of what Marcel said about how controlling scent was hard to learn because of the negative reactions of others. “It's okay, dear, I’ve learned to control it. I can hide my scent whenever I please. It takes about two weeks before my health starts to sway. You can knot me without having to put up with my scent."

Aiden pulls him in to burrow his nose by Dick's neck, taking one deep inhale after another through his nose. "You're an idiot. I've never met an O who smells as good as you. Why would you think I don't like your scent?"

"You started avoiding me once you could smell me."

"A total, complete, utter idiot is what you are," Aiden states with a pained laugh. "Out of all the conclusions you could have come to, you choose one that says there's something wrong with _you_. Did you ever think that perhaps I needed to make up for the time lost in school? Or perhaps that I was hounded by crippling guilt about almost having caused my best friend's death? Or that my grandpa and uncle had suddenly gotten mated and needed to spend time with you to get to know you? I hadn't smelled them so happy in a long time and didn't want to encroach on that. There are a thousand reasons why I avoided you, but you decided to believe one that was completely wrong. Darn it, Dick, you know me well enough to realize self-blame is my go-to reaction."

"You like my scent," Dick states with stupid butterflies doing backflips in his belly. Everyone and their aunt has told Dick Aiden likes him. It all meant nothing until Aiden said so himself.

"I love it." Aiden cups Dick's cheeks pulling him upward to put his lips just by Dick's ear. "I've never experienced scent attraction as strong as I do to you," he says, quietly, like he's divulging a secret. Dick shivers, getting goosebumps all over his body.

"Then why won't you make love to me?"

Dick can feel Aiden's smile against his cheek. Then, he deep-purrs. 

Dick lets out a soft breath, belly swooping, heart stuttering in his chest. He twists around, sloshing water over the sides of the tub, ass rubbing against Aiden's dick. Then Aiden's hands start to roam, his tongue laving Dick's neck gland. Both of them getting aroused fast, eager, hungry, soon enough, desperate.

A bathtub isn't the ideal place to have sex. By the time Aiden's knot goes down there's more water outside of the tub than in it. They refill the tub, wash each other, discover the forgotten champagne, drink, get distracted kissing, and fire each other up for a second round. This time, Aiden grabs Dick, hoists him up and carries him to Aiden's room. He throws Dick on the bed, uncaring that they're both wet, then climbs up after him.

They're on their fourth go when Marcel knocks on the door and steps inside. He sniffs the air, then suddenly, he smells _pissed_. "If you're done substituting your brain for your knot, the esteemed Main needs to look over a couple of papers," he says, giving Aid a disdainful look.

Aiden chuckles and sits up, pulling Dick onto his thighs so the knot won't pull too hard on the rim. He grins. “Let’s see it.”

Marcel’s gaze goes to Dick, losing some of its disdain. He slaps the folder on Dick's belly. Dick tries not to giggle. He and Aiden are both high. In Dick’s case, it’s both from siphoning and the jubilant feeling he gets from _finally_ getting to make love to the man he’s been hung up on since first meeting. His ass throbs and there’s a ghost sensation of kisses on his raw lips after all the kissing. He takes the folder, Aiden’s hands caressing his thighs, and opens the folder to go through the papers. It’s a report on financial losses and predictions of how recent laws will impact on the business. It’s useless information since laws keep changing daily now. Most laws don’t impact the Williamses at all, but unless you can see into the future, there’s no telling how things are going to look in a week or two. The documents also list a bunch of numbers that make zero sense to Dick. “Ooh. Look, math, my specialty,” Dick jokes dryly.

“Let me see,” Aiden says and grabs the documents. He skims through them and when he comes to the numbers he grabs a pen from his nightstand, scribbles on the paper and turns it around so Dick can see. It’s one of those insane calculations that barely look like math to Dick due to all the weird symbols and letters, and underneath, two executive orders based on the calculation. “Does that sound good to you?”

Dick blinks blankly at the paper. Marcel leans over them to see, Aiden adjusting the angle so he has a clear view too, and Dick notes the approval in Marcel’s face. “That looks good,” Dick confirms, trusting the two Alphas’ judgment. “Am I supposed to sign it?” Marcel points to a line at the bottom of the page while Aiden hands him the pen. Dick uses the folder as support and writes ‘Richard Williams’ before handing everything back to Marcel. Technically, an Alpha needs to sign, but any paperwork Dick’s put his name on and sent to City Hall had been stamped as valid. The Conservatives simply think a male name means ‘Alpha’. Marcel said if it wouldn’t pass, the government would’ve been trying to interfere with pack politics and must face the consequences. Phillip had done one of his rare appearances only to say 'That's what I said!' wagging a finger at Jane, then pinching Marcel's cheek, calling him a good boy before heading for the door. Just as he was leaving he'd turned around, addressed Dick, and said, 'Oh, and tell Dean that Jed knows where he is,' then wandered off to do who knows what. It had created an awkward pause, as always when Phillip said something cryptic. Dick’s heart rate spiked at that point. He’s sure he’s heard of a Dean before, but he can’t grasp the memory of him. Dick hands the folder back to Marcel.

Aiden grins at Marcel. "See? We can think just fine, sex, or not."

Marcel snorts. “My sense of smell tells me that's a lie,” he says and leaves the room, closing the door after himself.

Aiden looks at the closed door for a moment. “I wonder what scared him?” he says, still looking at the door.

"Scared him?"

"He took one whiff of us and was terrified.”

“He smelled pissed to me,” Dick says purring contentedly.

Aiden chuckles, looks back at Dick, and lets his fingertips caress lightly over Dick’s stomach. “Okay, for future reference, when you and I fight because I lost my temper and yelled at you, there’s a 90% chance, if not more, that you’ve done something that scared me. Most likely, our argument will be centered around me scolding you for putting your life in danger, and you telling me to take a hike since you do what you want with your life.”

Dick sniggers. “That sounds like us.”

Aiden carefully lies down on top of him again, rolling them onto their sides. The motion tugs at the knot inside of Dick so Dick has to bite his lip not to let out a moan of pleasure. Aiden strokes Dick’s sweat-matted hair out of his face. “I could smell his anger too, I trust the faint feelings I can smell underneath more. Marcel smelled neutral when he stepped in here, then something scared him and he got angry, the anger went down but he still had anxiety. Trust me on this. My whole life is filled with other people’s hidden feelings. The feelings other people smell are the secondary ones.”

Dick hums, too content to be bothered by Marcel having a freakout. He’s too happy, and Aiden’s happy too. There are muscles in Aiden’s face Dick thinks he’s never seen relax before. Unless they come under physical attack, Dick’s determined to enjoy spending his Heat with Aiden - a welcome pause from all the stressors they’re put through on a daily basis.

It’s something of a disappointment when his Heat barely lasts for two days. Despite the unusually short Heat, Aiden remains happy, talkative, and affectionate, so Dick’s content either way.

* * *


	27. The Snoop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick overhears things...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to my betas Lisa and Melina, for taking time out of their busy life to go through my chapters. <3<3 I'm so grateful I have no words.

* * *

Dick’s not skulking on purpose. This is his home, after all, so he has no reason to sneak around and eavesdrop. It just… happens. Old habits die hard. It leads to him catching some private moments of others, learning new things about them. Okay, sometimes he does it on purpose when he’s curious. 

When he’s in his room he generally has his door open in an invite to anyone seeking his company. One day he hears voices coming from the end of the corridor where Jason and Phillip live. It’s not odd to hear talking coming from there. Phillip is a regular chatterbox. Not with _people_ , but still. This time, he hears Phillip and Jason. He can’t make out what they’re saying from his room, but it isn’t a brief conversation and it’s frequently broken by laughter. After a while, curiosity drives Dick to poke his head out of his room to see both Phillip’s and Jason’s doors are open. He can see straight into Phillip’s room at the end of the corridor, it's empty which means they’re both in Jason’s room. Dick stands staring down the corridor for a good five minutes before he clips his scent off and silently tiptoes down it until he can finally make out what they’re saying.

“...No. You’d think so, but the Alphas we did get rarely lasted long. I didn’t get it when I was a kit. The Alpha instinct. I thought I’d never care, that the orphanage had killed every shred of compassion I had,” Jason’s saying. “We were so overcrowded. Everything stunk. When one of us died they didn’t bother removing the corpse until the Pyrewagon made its rounds, and if we had an outbreak of some disease that killed several of us at the same time, they only took out a few of the corpses each day not to look too bad. You know the Pyrewagon staffers are amongst the most caring people you can find working in the city?”

“No. We don’t deal with them much. We Williamses burn our own. Most get burned on the battlefield,” Phillip answers. He scoffs. “Oh, shush. Did _you_ deal with the Pyrewagon folks? No, you didn’t, so shut up and let the boy speak,” he scolds, then a brief pause, and, with much more warmth, he says, “Don’t mind her. Go on, boy.”

Jason chuckles. “The Pyrefolks, in general, are pretty damned uncorrupt. You can’t pay the drivers to pick up still living people, and the ones manning the fire likewise won’t burn anyone alive no matter how much you offer them. They’re self-policing too, weeding out their bad apples, so you can lose your scent and go into hibernation on the street and they will, at most, move you to a safer location even if the politicians try to order them to _clean up the streets_ , so to speak. I can gush all night about them, but what I’m trying to explain, is that if an orphanage had them pick up too many dead kits daily, they’d start asking questions.”

“What questions would they be asking?” Phillip asks, sounding very interested.

“How many kits they have in there, to start with. We were constantly overcrowded and kits dying to make space was considered a good thing by the owners, because aside from donations, they receive a one-time grant from the state for every kit they take in. The cops that dumped us over got paid a small sum for every kit they brought in too. Not enough to incentivize kidnapping like the kit slavery business, but they still got paid. So if the Pyrewagon would pick up ten kits a day from an establishment approved to hold fifty kits, that would raise eyebrows. And the Pyrefolk travel all around the city, have good relations with every dominant pack, every well-respected low to mid-income Conservative, and all social classes of Progs. They’re trusted. If they go around talking to people, saying orphanages kill kits by the masses, getting paid by the government to do so, it would spark outrage and heads would start rolling. But the Pyrefolks also know new kits are taken in when a space opens up, and many kits are in a bad shape when they come, so picking up one or two a day doesn’t raise any eyebrows. That’s why, when we had outbreaks of disease some of the dead were left in there with us for days. And our caregivers…” Jason sighs and pauses. “Some genuinely cared for us. Especially the Alphas. The ones that cared never lasted long. They lost their scent and went into mourning when they realized there was nothing they could do in those conditions. Only the most callous people held up. And don't get me started on the food. The swill we were served wasn't meant for human consumption, but I was one of the kits that fought to get as much of it as possible. I was feral, demanding the other kits keep their distance even if there was no distance to be had, biting and clawing any adult that dared try come close.”

“Oh, I can relate to that,” Phillip agrees. “Locked me up in an asylum, they did. We’re not meant to be locked up. Oh no. But they strapped me down and forced drugs into me trying to calm me down. Fought them like a wild wolfcat, I did. Then they were going to poke a hole in my head to calm me down.” He growls lowly at the memory.

“They were going to lobotomize you?” 

Phillip hums. “They would have tried to, they would. But Jedikiah broke me out. He’s a little twerp, but his heart is in the right place. He and that little slip of a girl he always hangs around with,” he says, letting out a fond little chuckle.

“Jedikiah… You mean… your Patriarch?” Jason asks hesitantly.

“What? Oh. Oh, yes I suppose. Heh. Not so little anymore, is he? But when he broke me out he was only this tall.” There’s a pause where Dick presumes Phillip holds up a hand to demonstrate Jed’s height. “His little friend is this tall and they’re going to get mated when they grow up.”

“That would be General Hartley,” Jason answers with a smiling voice. “And they’ve broken up.”

Phillip chuckles. “General, huh?" Then, after a pause. "Oh, shut up. I know you've told me that. You tell me a lot of things. You won't stop nattering. Yak yak yak, all day. Go away, I'm trying to have a conversation with the boy. … Just ignore her."

"You… you know I can't actually see her, right?” Jason asks.

“You can’t? I suppose you can’t. Oh, well. Consider yourself lucky, boy, she’s a pain in the knockers, I’ll tell you. So, where were we? Oh, that’s right, Karen grew up to become a General. Such a brave little girl. Did you have a chance to meet her before she died? No? She went on to adopt the whole darn country as her kits, fighting fang and claw to keep everyone safe. If you knew her in her eighties you’d never suspect she’d die happy and content of old age. Her grandson was there, holding her hand as she passed. You’d never think that either.”

“She’s not dead yet,” Jason says with a smile in his voice.

“No? You’ll meet her then. It’ll surprise you that she’s only five feet tall. A little slip of a girl. Well. I suppose she’s gone a bit chunky by now. Heh. She’s not dead, you say? Sorry, chronology is hard sometimes."

Jason sniggers. "It's fine. You want some more Calvados? It's made from apples."

Phillip chirps appreciatively. "Don't mind if I do. Did you know I have an apple tree? It's down where the orchard used to be. I planted it when I was two years old. They helped, of course. They taught me everything. To read and write, do calculus, and to speak French and Algonquian. The latter only so I could understand what they were yakking about, I’m sure. I’ll tell you, they're as much of a nuisance as they're helpful. Especially now when there's someone here who isn't supposed to be here yet. They don't like that. They don't like that one bit. It changes things but they don't know how. It's got them all fretting."

"There's someone who doesn't belong here?"

"What? Oh. Oh, no," Phillip chuckles. "He belongs. He's just early, changing things as he goes. We can do that, you know? Change things. Nowedonah says everyone can be the swing vote, but I don't agree. Voting implies choice and if there's one thing I've learned, it's that life happens to you, you don't have a choice in the matter."

"So what does... Nowedonah... mean by swing vote?" Jason asks uncertainly, hesitating on the unfamiliar name.

"He means that every living being might change the future. Like that one pack war that started because one pack’s chicken crossed the road.” Phillip bursts out laughing. “Yes! Yes! Oh, I remember! Leona’s face when she realized what started it!” He keeps laughing, saying things that make little sense for a while, responding to voices nobody can hear. 

Jason waits patiently as Phillip reminisces about past events with people who were there by the sound of it, then Jason asks, “You started a war over a chicken…?”

Phillip scoffs indignantly, then chuckles. “We certainly didn’t. There were two other packs who lived on either side of a street. They both kept free-ranging chickens. Then one chicken crossed the road and decided to roost in the other pack’s coop. That sparked an ownership dispute. The funny thing is that it wasn’t the two packs living across from each other that ended up declaring war, but their allies twice removed. We were called upon to restore peace and when we traced the chain of events backward, we found out it all started with that chicken. The chicken didn’t exactly vote to make two packs far removed from it go to war, did it? But it changed things.”

Jason hums. “I guess the real question is: Why did the chicken cross the road?”

Phillip bursts out laughing again. He laughs until he’s wheezing, making Jason start purring an affectionate version of all-is-well. “Ooh, you’re funny, you are!” Phillip laughs. “I'll drink to that. Cheers!” Dick hears clinking and followed by a silence as both of them drink. "So, you were telling me about your Alpha instinct," Phillip says. Dick’s surprised by how coherent the conversation is if you ignore the parts where Phillip talks to the voices in his head.

"Right. I told you how I first met Covin. The second time I saw him he was snatching. He didn't do a grab-and-run like most Snatchers I'd come across. He had singled out a small orphan with no bonds at all, that smelled of starvation. You know the smell people get when they're on the brink of starving to death? He'd offered the kit food, wrapped his jacket around her, and listened to her talk. He took her to the slavers when she fell asleep. I was intrigued. I went to him and told him I could help him find more kits, keeping a safe distance, of course. But he wasn't interested. I started stalking him. He noticed, and would put out food for me before he went to bed." Jason chuckles fondly. "I started writing him notes when I caught him reading a book. I wrote things like 'plees lett me hellp'. I'd taught myself to read but I sure hadn't taught myself to spell," he jokes. 

Phillip clucks in amusement. 

"Anyway," Jason goes on. "I wore him down. He agreed to teach me as long as I followed his rules. He's the first and only parental figure I ever had. I followed his rules for snatching for fear of losing him if I didn't. He considered slavery one of the worst crimes, and told me that if my goal wasn't to give my target a second chance at life, he wasn't the mentor for me. Honestly, I didn't give a crap about the kits we caught. I only wanted to make him happy. But then I presented, and, hoo boy, did that mess with my brain. First time I handed over a kit after I presented, I felt like throwing up, I felt so bad. Covin had to remind me we can’t adopt them all, and that if they’re alive, they have a future, they can escape when they’re healthy if they put their minds to it. He told me that there are several moments in life when a man feels his humanity slipping. When that happens, we must choose to hold on since letting go is much easier. And he was right. Growing up alone on the streets you _have to_ let your humanity slip. You see and experience too much suffering and crap, and if you let yourself care, you’re sucked into a depression like the few Alpha caregivers we had at the orphanage. So once my Alpha instinct kicked in, I finally understood Covin. All those rules he had for himself was to make sure he wouldn’t turn into a monster. It happens, you know? After a while, even the Alpha instinct can’t keep you from getting desensitized to what you’re doing. But he taught me that just because you’re a lowlife, you don’t have to be a complete piece of shit.”

“Do you see yourself as a lowlife?” Phillip asks.

In the long, pregnant pause that follows Dick’s heart twists. Why? Because he can feel himself in that hesitation. Because deep down he doubts himself sometimes. The question 'If I'm not trash, why did everyone turn their backs on me growing up?' will hit him randomly. Mostly he thinks very highly of himself, but the doubts are always a moment away from resurfacing.

"Not… exactly. But you have to be a piece of shit to do what I do. And even my Alpha instinct couldn’t save me after a while. I stopped caring, stopped feeling that nausea for my actions and only went through the motions. I still held to Covin’s rules after he died. Nobody with bonds of any kind, nobody surviving on their own, vetting the slaver thoroughly to make sure they’ll be one of those giving a modicum of care to the kits they buy, like the one who bought Jared. I could make more money selling to some of the worse ones, but it would be short-sighted and the monetary gain would be too small to be worth it. So I kept Covin’s rules but I lost the spark of compassion inside.”

“How did Covin die?”

“On the job. Someone saw him take a kit and killed him,” Jason’s voice is tight with restrained anger. “I _hate_ those self-righteous anti-Snatcher bastards. They killed him, congratulating themselves for saving that kit. Three days later the kit was dead because they didn’t _care_. They felt good about themselves for removing a Snatcher from the streets, but they didn’t give a crap beyond that. They didn’t make an effort to feed the starving kits, or trace down the slavers that bought the kits, or protest outside City Hall to end the sanction of the slave trade. No, they just reveled in the killing and walked away as if they didn’t just prune one of the outermost leaves of the tree, causing ten more leaves to sprout to make up for the fallen one.” Jason falls quiet for a bit. When he speaks again he sounds less angry. “I get if Dick does it, who’s been a target of us, or when some dumbass snatches a pack kit and the pack goes berserk to get her back. Then it’s personal.” His voice turns bitter again. “But mostly, it’s people going ‘Snatching is bad’ and then not caring beyond that. They don’t want to help anyone, they want to play the hero and feel good about themselves. You know the worst part? These people, when they save the kit they either leave them on the streets or take them to an orphanage. Dooming the kits to worse fates than slavery. So yeah, I might be a lowlife, but they're not better than me.”

"Boy, let me tell you something. My pack? We're all jerks and lowlifes. We've orphaned more kits than we can count. Back in the days when we only did pack wars, we'd adopt the kits we orphaned, but these days we kill soldiers from far away, leaving countless orphans out of reach. We let the government take care of the aftermath of the war, trusting them to uphold their side of the bargain as if they were another pack. But they don't. Oh no, they don't. You want to change things, you're going to have to do it yourself."

Jason lets out a tired sigh. "I just want to get rich and comfortable."

"In that case, boy, you've accomplished your mission. And you're not a lowlife. If you were, you wouldn’t waste time with an old coot like me.”

Jason sniggers. “Are you kidding? I love talking to you. I’ve never met anyone as old as you. It’s daunting to think about all the things you must have lived through. I’ll admit, it gets confusing sometimes when your friends distract you since I can’t see or hear them, but I don’t mind. Have you lived here on Long Island all your life?”

Phillip clucks a flustered chuckle. “Oh. Oh. No. Yes, I suppose? I’ve gone off on my own to live in other places now and then, but this has always been my home. And New York. It was a different city when I was young. Most buildings were wooden and got destroyed in the great fire. And I remember the yellow ribbon war. I was in my mid-Juvies then. Every able-bodied person who wasn’t caring for kits went to war to fight a big pack alliance trying to take over the city. We won, but the government demanded we keep driving them back instead of going home. So the people left at home started tying yellow ribbons around trees, balconies, and― Oh shush, I’m talking! ...Because I’m telling him what _I_ remember, not what you remember, you dolt. ….No. I…”

Dick sinks down to sit by the wall, listening to Phillip reminiscing about his youth and historical events. Phillip’s often distracted and has conversations with his invisible friends, frequently forgetting the topic at hand once he turns his attention to Jason again. But Jason’s patient, seemingly amused by Phillip’s forays into his hidden world, and answers questions Phillip asks that he’s dodged when Dick asked them. Despite the weird conversations with voices in his head, Phillip is far more lucid and *here* than Dick had previously thought. Dick could have stayed eavesdropping all evening if Marcel hadn’t come to the corridor and leaned against the wall at the other end of it to cross his arms over his chest and smirk at him.

The day after Dick asks Jason why he’d told Phillip, out of all people, what he’d worked with. Jason is confused. “I thought you told him. He knew already.” They end up asking Phillip who told him, who waves them off with a “Why, Luci, of course,” and walks away.

* * *

Dick’s always soft on his feet. Stealth is ingrained in him to a degree that he often startles people even when he doesn’t hide his scent. But if no one’s in view he’ll often hide it. Because of it, he catches another conversation that hammers home two things for him. One, Marcel is seen as a very high-ranking Alpha despite being just a guest. Two, Aiden respects authority figures a lot more than Dick imagined.

Dick’s spent the night with Arvid. Arvid’s still sleeping when Dick leaves the room at the first light of dawn, bumping into Marcel briefly on his way to a bathroom, ignoring the burst of anger in the Alpha’s scent. When he’s done with his morning routine he heads downstairs to have breakfast, hoping that Aiden will come in from his guard shift about now. As usual, he clips his scent off when he’s moving about alone.

Nearing the kitchen he hears an argument and stops.

"You foolish, dumb, selfish piece of crap. Has your one brain cell ever learned to consider consequences?" It’s Marcel, and his voice is tight with restrained anger.

"What? _Jinkies!_ What are you talking about?!" That’s Aiden. He sounds confused and there’s a shuffling sound as if he’s backing up, moving closer to the kitchen entrance.

"He's too young and your actions may kill him. That's not what you do to someone you profess to care about, foolish kit. If he dies, it’s on you. You―”

“I’ve done nothing wrong! I―” Aiden’s indignant protest is cut off by a sharp slap. It’s quickly followed by the sound of Aiden backing up another step, growling a non-threatening ‘ _stop it_ ’. “I don’t know why you’re angry, but I’ve done nothing wrong.”

Dick releases his scent and hurries into the kitchen before the two Alphas start fighting. He steps through the open door with a coy smile. “Good morning, gentlemen.”

The two Alphas indeed look like fists are going to fly, Marcel’s in particular. Marcel’s staring Aiden down with pinched lips, dark eyes, and cold anger wafting off him in fumes. Aiden’s baring fangs, posed to fight but smelling of less anger, eyes wide under a scowl like confusion is his main feeling. Aiden turns his head in Dick’s direction, his nostrils flare as if he’s scenting. Suddenly, he goes pale, the red handprint on his cheek glowing in stark contrast. His eyes go wide and the anger in his scent is traded for a jumble of emotions Dick can’t make sense of. Aiden looks back at Marcel. “Are you sure I did it?”

“Do I need to slap you again, boy?” Marcel asks, acute anger going down, but eyes and voice still cold.

Aiden ducks his head and licks his lips in submission, holding his hands up. “No, no. Sorry. I didn’t think.”

“No, you didn’t,” Marcel agrees.

Dick’s perplexed, seeing Aiden react like a chastised kit to the older non-pack Alpha. “What’s going on?”

“I’ll let the culprit tell you himself,” Marcel answers. “If he doesn’t tell you, you’ll find out in three to six days regardless. In the meantime, may I suggest you take the upcoming days to relax and try…” Marcel lists several drugs Laurent had warned him of trying, then a few herbal teas made from plants Dick thinks he’s heard of used as remedies by healers, but other people have said are poisonous. His confusion is mounting.

“Hey, hey, no, stop,” Aiden tells Marcel and waves his hands in a gesture of denial.

“Don’t worry. He’s a healthy adult. He’ll be fine,” Marcel says, losing some of his coldness.

“What are you talking about?” Dick suddenly remembers both Aiden and Marcel have that extreme sense of smell. Why would Marcel recommend drugs Laurent’s said one should stay away from unless one’s already dying? Or dangerous and potent herbal remedies? He’s starting to get worried. “Am I sick?” If he is, they would be the first to know. And Arvid, but Arvid’s still fast asleep.

“No,” Aiden and Marcel answer as one. Aiden gestures at the bench by the kitchen table. “Sit down, please. I―” He walks up to Dick, puts a hand on Dick’s shoulder to steer him backwards to the bench. When Dick sits down Aiden crouches down before him. This close Dick can smell his anxiety and the sour hint of fear underneath. He takes Dick’s hand, looking up to meet Dick’s gaze. His eyes are wide, still shocked and maybe scared. Dick feels Aiden’s hand tremble. Aiden swallows, throws a look behind himself at Marcel before meeting Dick’s gaze again. “We messed up. _I_ messed up. I’ve never…” He clears his throat. “It doesn’t matter. What I’m trying to say is, we’re going to―”

The perimeter alarm sounds, cutting Aiden off. 

Instinct takes over. Whatever Aiden’s about to say can wait. Within a heartbeat, all three of them are rushing towards the entrance of the house, stopping only to arm themselves from one of the weapon cabinets. 

When they get to the gates the situation isn’t as dire as Dick had feared. The guards on the wall are nervous enough to have sounded the alarm and have their weapons ready, but they’re tense, not afraid. Dick climbs up the wall to see. There’s a trail of military vehicles, but the soldiers, while looking ready for anything, aren’t showing any signs of being aggressors. The four riding in a jeep up front have gotten out and stand talking with the Hale guards on the wall, keeping their arms up, hands where they can be seen, to show they’re not a threat. 

“...invited. Our Commander told us to come here. Our Captain’s already here,” one of the soldiers are saying.

“If you just get him he can vouch for us as soon as he sees us,” another soldier says.

“That won’t be necessary,” Dick calls down to them, drawing their attention. “If you just tell me what god Mattsson prays to?” he says, excitement tingling and fluttering in his body.

“Ares,” the four soldiers answer as one.

“And on which Alpha does Mattsson have a crush he isn’t acknowledging?” Dick asks.

The four soldiers share an amused look, look back up at Dick, and once again answer as one, “Ares!”

Dick smirks and turns to the Hale guards. “It’s the Demon’s Lot, alright. Open the gates.” He knows that the Americans don’t know these things about the Demon’s company. They don’t know names or internal gossip. He knows that, since it was his job to find out. That’s why he finds it adequate proof of their identity even if some of the others give him uncertain looks. Nobody protests, though, which is the important part.

There are 44 soldiers in the column of vehicles. Two of which Aiden recognizes and has met. 44 soldiers is a goldmine for their defense. Better yet, there’s one surgeon, one doctor, and two field medics amongst them. Arvid gets looked over by them, the surgeon gushing over the work done on Arvid’s feet at the American hospital. He gets new instructions about what he can and can’t do. He still has to wear a bandage over his eyes during daylight, but his hands are cleared for being used so he can hop around on his crutches.

30 of the newly arrived belong to a unit called “The Urchins” and are led by a tall, black man called Archer that Dick takes an instant liking to. In fact, every Urchin he speaks to is someone he feels he connects with. The reason is soon apparent, since the Urchins unit took their name from the phrase ‘street-urchins’, and every member grew up on the street or in some way in the underbelly of a city. The Commander had sent them ahead, certain they'd be better used in the City than as messengers. They'd arrived by boat at night to avoid detection. Dick wonders how they could get here so fast. He'd understood that they had to fulfill their previous contract first. Hammer, one of the Urchins, explains that the first rule of Packrunning was invoked: “We are one.” Any Merc contract stipulates that a previous promise or contact always took precedence. Since Packrunning itself is under attack in America, rather than individual packs, they could break their contract with the Union. Dick does _not_ get it. But every born Packrunner seems to think this makes perfect sense. To them, the first rule equals a previously given promise. Packrunners are strange that way.

Out of sight from the mercs, Dick tells his pack (plus Marcel) to make friends with as many mercs as possible. “We might be paying them, but I want it to be personal. I want them to be fighting to protect people they care about. So make them care.”

Sandra nudges Jane’s side and says, “ _Yoicks!_ ” with a small, playful smile and a twinkle in her eyes. It makes all the pack members snigger. Even Marcel’s lips curl upward in amusement. Dick doesn’t get the joke. 

He waits until he and Aiden are alone and asks what it means. “It’s the huntsman’s cry to encourage the hounds during fox hunting,” he explains with a smile. “Jane might have failed with you, but her gift is to make people feel at home and cared about.”

Aiden’s never far away from Dick today. Touching him at any moment it’s appropriate. He isn’t territorial like Mar. Two mercs deep-purr Dick, and Aiden stands to the side grinning as if he’s enjoying the attention on Dick’s behalf. Aiden gives Dick small, affectionate markings with his neck or temple throughout the day, but he doesn’t claim him as Mar would. His touches are encouraging rather than needy. Mostly, he smells happy and content. But now and then anxiety and fear fray the edges of those feelings. 

The mercs split up. 25 of them head for the city, the rest stay put. Dick’s unwilling to let them go at first, but Arvid says to trust his company to know what they’re doing. They’ve got two objectives until the rest of the company arrives. Keep the Williams pack safe, and gather intel. So Dick agrees and the 19 remaining mercs divide guard duty amongst them, making sure there’s always one of them on guard to inform the Hale guards when they’re approached by others from their company or other merc companies interested in negotiating a contract.

Dick’s mostly forgotten about the morning argument between Aiden and Marcel. At the end of the day, he’s dead on his feet. He asks Arvid if he wants to sleep with his men or if he prefers Dick to sleep with him.

“Oh, definitely you. I don’t sleep with the troops unless we have to.”

“I wasn’t talking about sex, dear.”

“Neither am I. We function on pack principles but work hard to avoid pack bonding. Same reason the Professor only fools around with the Conservatives.”

“He fools around with the servants?” Dick asks in surprise.

Arvid sniggers. “Yes. The whole Truemate thing falls apart as soon as a handsome Alpha deep-purrs them.”

“He isn’t handsome,” Dick refutes. He’s a little bit handsome. But Dick constantly compares him to Antoine and he doesn’t hold a candle to Antoine.

“Says you,” Arvid sniggers. “Could you pull the curtains so I can finally remove this damned blindfold? Doc says I’m cleared to use my eyes in muted light and the bandages itch like crazy.” Dick does as told, pulls the curtains and cuts the ceiling light so just the bedside lamp remains lit, then undresses and crawls into bed, watching Arvid, already naked, as he sits carefully removing the bandage. When the bandages come off Arvid groans and rub his palms over his eyes to relieve the itch, then blinks blearily, sets his gaze on Dick, and smiles. “Look at that. You _are_ a sight for sore eyes,” he jokes.

Dick chuckles. "Are they? Sore, I mean." Arvid's eye whites are still stark red, but he can see that the swelling has gone down and his eyes are clear.

"Not really. A few more days, then Doc thinks I can get rid of the blindfold and use dark glasses instead," Arvid answers, crawls under the blanket, and scoots close. Dick hitches his leg over Arvid's midriff and leans his head on Arvid’s shoulder, purring in contentment. Arvid smells good. Arvid bends the arm Dick’s resting on to let his fingers idly play with Dick’s hair. “So… Should I congratulate you or offer my condolences?” he asks.

“For what?” Dick asks too content to be confused.

Arvid bites his lip, hesitates, then shakes his head with a smile. “Nevermind. Speaking of, glad to see you and Red resolved your problems. He seems pretty sweet on you.”

Dick grins and closes his eyes, flutters in his belly. “I think he is, but he won’t admit it in words.”

“He doesn’t have to. I can smell it every time you smile at him,” Arvid says. Dick chirps excitedly and hides his face against Arvid’s chest. Arvid chuckles, then, “Speaking of the devil, here he comes…”

Dick lifts his head and listens. It takes a few seconds before he hears the soft footfalls on the stone floor in the corridor. He doesn’t smell Aiden until just before there’s a soft knock on the doorframe and Aid pokes his head in. "Hey… you guys doing anything?"

"Just waiting for you to join us, big guy," Arvid jokes.

Aiden smirks, comes inside and closes the door. He's naked, fresh from the shower. Dick thinks he'll never get completely used to how Packrunners find clothes to be optional, even if he isn't uncomfortable with it anymore. Aiden flares, heads straight for the bed, and starts deep-purring, gaze locked on Dick. Arvid grins when Aiden gets on the bed and crawls right over him to get to Dick. Aid pulls the blanket off Dick and lays down on him, warm skin pressed against Dick's back, lips kissing the purr against his throat.

"Okay, Red, before you go at it, I feel like we should address the elephant in the room that only the two of us can smell," Arvid says.

Aiden collapses as if someone cut his strings and rolls off Dick, instantly smelling anxious. Worried, Dick flips over. “Is something wrong?”

Aiden scoots on top of him again so they’re face to face. He strokes Dick’s hair out of his face with anxious eyes. “No. No. Not wrong, exactly. I, uh. Remember when Marcel walked in on us and said he could smell I wasn’t using my brain?”

“That was four days ago. Of course, I remember,” Dick answers with a frown.

“What he smelled was the lack of a French letter,” Aiden says.

Dick feels like a question mark and probably looks it too judging by Arvid’s humorless chuckle. 

“Not everyone knows French letter is slang for a condom, Red, and some news should always be delivered straightforwardly,” Arvid says, not unkindly, and starts up a soothing purr. 

Aiden swallows, looks deep into Dick’s eyes, and says, “You and I are going to be parents.” When Dick blinks, not giving any reaction, he adds, “You’re pregnant.”

Dick’s head twitches a little in a gesture of confused denial. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Aid and Arvid answer as one.

“Cue my question, should I offer my condolences or congratulate you?” Arvid says jokingly but with a serious look in his eyes.

“I-I-I don’t know? But if I’m pregnant, why did Marcel ask me to drink poison?”

“What poison?” Arvid asks with a little wrinkle between his brows. Dick lists the drugs and herbal teas, and Arvid’s wrinkle smooths out. "Oh. He wants you to lose the kitling in an early stage without doing any harm to yourself. All those herbs are part of wild wolfcats' diet, from what I've heard."

Aiden frowns. "It is? Why?"

"Um… okay, I _haven't_ studied at college. You should know more about it than me. All I know is that if you spot young adult wolfcats they'll be happily munching those herbs like dogs eating grass. Especially if they're in Heat or Rut. I don't… hey, maybe Prof knows more?" Arvid tilts his head back and makes a howling growly sound really loudly, confusing Dick completely. It's hard to translate. It means 'right' and 'dead' as an intention. 'Justified murder', or perhaps 'Vengeance' or 'Punishment'.

Within a few seconds, the door opens and Marcel comes in. He smells annoyed. "You called?" he says coldly.

"That's your name?" Dick asks.

"Yeah, so? What about it?" Marcel answers defensively, sounding so much like Antoine Dick aches for a beat. 

"What is your primal name?" Arvid asks Dick curiously.

"I don't have one, dear."

Arvid smells excited, exchanges a look and a smirk with Marcel, then they both make a sound Dick's never heard before. It's sort of a short, haunted _ooo_ ending with repeated clicking. The clicking signifies wiliness and wit, and is a sound tagged onto the end of crafty animal names like fox and weasel, but Dick's not sure what animal the ‘ooo’ is. 

Aiden sniggers. “Yes. It’s perfect. That’s your name.”

“What does it mean?” Dick asks suspiciously.

Marcel rolls his eyes and looks at Arvid. “Did you call me in here just to name Dick? In that case, couldn’t it have waited until tomorrow?” he says annoyedly, albeit his scent isn’t annoyed anymore.

“No. Those herbal teas you recommended Dick,” Arvid says, “those herbs are part of the wolfcats regular diet, right? Why do they eat them?”

“Same reason we drink the teas made from those herbs, of course. To prevent certain illnesses, and make unwanted pregnancies go away at the earliest stage. I’m presuming you’ve told him?” he looks at Aiden for confirmation, then meets Dick’s gaze after getting a nod. “We can smell that an egg has been fertilized inside of you, but it takes six to fourteen days before it’s properly attached to the uterus wall. If you drink that tea, preferably daily, for the upcoming fortnight, chances are the egg will fail to attach, dissolve, and be absorbed back into the body. The drugs will trick your body into thinking it’s suffering acute poisoning and cause it to self-cleanse. Both options will take care of the problem before it becomes a problem.”

“Is it? A problem?” Dick asks. He hasn’t had time to process what it means. He _knows_ what being pregnant means, but he hasn’t really understood how it relates to him. It seems unreal, somehow. He looks away from Marcel to look up in Aiden’s eyes. “Do _you_ want me to drink the tea?”

Aiden’s scent explodes with anxiety. “That’s, that’s, that’s something you have to decide. I. I can’t.”

Arvid’s soothing purr starts up again and Marcel closes the door and comes to sit on the edge of the bed. “You ask an Alpha if you should do away with the kitling he’s fathered the answer’s going to be no from the moment he can smell that you’re pregnant,” Marcel says. “I’ll tell you that, yes, it is a problem for any morphic species to be pregnant, especially when they, _we_ , are young. The risk of something going wrong is much higher the sooner an O gets pregnant after she’s presented. There are several factors that can make a pregnancy more dangerous. Change in the environment, stress, and emotional trauma amongst other things. We’re on the cusp of a civil war, so you’re going to check off every one of those factors during your pregnancy. My recommendation is; drink the tea. Wait a decade or two, then, when the time is right, tell your red-eyed lover you want to see if red plus red makes red, and get pregnant when life is stable and your body is ready. You’re gambling with your own life.”

Dick can feel Aiden’s pulse racing where they’re skin to skin, chest to chest. He keeps smoothing Dick’s hair back but it feels more like a self-soothing gesture. His eyes are worried and so, so beautiful.

Supposedly, according to all three of the freak noses present, there’s the spark of life inside of him. A spark, that could turn into a person of its own. A part of Aiden combined with a part of himself, that can grow into someone unique. Dick recognizes the wisdom in Marcel’s advice. He almost wishes his own parents would have chosen to stop his mom’s pregnancy with him at this early stage. They didn’t care to have him. He was a problem. Unloved. Unwanted. Instead, they tried to fix their mistake after the fact. Having a kit… it's a commitment for life if it's an Alpha, or for two decades if it's an Omega. If he even survives the pregnancy and giving birth.

... but the kit would be loved, wouldn't it? He, not it. Dick would love him. "What should we name him?"

Marcel curses under his breath.

"Yuh-you're keeping it?" Aiden asks shakily.

"Him, dear. Until he tells me otherwise, he's a he."

"It's common to name kits after their grandparents," Marcel says defeatedly.

"In that case, how do I set my womb on fire and would drinking bleach be enough to purge it?" Dick jokes dryly.

Aiden hiccups a suffering laugh, but smells of fear. "No. Please," he says, then presses his lips together as if he's trying to stop more words from escaping. “Don’t joke about it,” he begs after a beat of silence. “I’ll support you whatever you choose to do, but… don’t joke about it.”

"Do you have any relatives worthy of honoring?" Dick asks Aiden, trying to smooth over the joke.

"I… I'm afraid that if you'd name the kit after my parents, Mar would be the one wanting to purge it. But… we had an aunt, Lucifer… I think… I think she was probably horribly unfit to be a parent, but she and uncle Michael, they tried to be there for us. They came home from the war more often, they taught us self-defense, played with us, and supported us, and, I think, who we grew up to be is more influenced by them and Jed, than our birth parents. So… if you ask me to name a kit…” Aiden swallows, choosing his words carefully, then corrects himself, “to name _my_ kit… he or she would be called Lucifer in honor of aunt Luci.”

Dick pushes Aiden’s shoulder until he rolls off Dick, then Dick stares at his belly for several tense seconds. He puts his hand on his belly and pats carefully. “Hello, Lucifer,” he says. “You were not planned, but now that you’re here, the first thing you’re about to find out is that your dad is very committed to his follies.”

Marcel drags a hand over his face, then reaches out to put his hand on Dick’s belly. He smells angry but looks resigned. “At this stage, it’s just a cluster of cells where no soul can live yet. It hasn’t attached to you, and it may fail to do so even if you do everything right. The pregnancy might fail anytime during the first three months if things get too chaotic around you. It might fail later, with horrible consequences to you. Are you sure about this? You still have days to think about it. I’ll get you the herbs or drugs, whichever you choose.”

“I’m sure, dear,” Dick says with a small smile.

“In that case, don’t drink alcohol or do any drugs. Don’t hide your scent for an extended time, have lots of sex and cuddle a lot, let loved ones mark you up frequently. It will be harder to remember to take time for cuddling and sex if and when the civil war gets heated, but do so anyway. Don’t eat…” he lists a bunch of foods and then lists foods Dick should eat.

“Why should I trust you to be honest about what I should eat when I know you don’t want me to keep him?”

Marcel gives him an indignant look. “I let my mate decide for herself even when I knew I was very likely to lose her. You don’t think I’d offer you the same courtesy? I have more honor than you give me credit for, but go off, I guess,” he answers snippily.

“All his recommendations sound legit,” Aiden adds in Marcel’s defense. “I’m sure Jane and the others can confirm it.”

“A glass of wine or a beer once or twice a month won’t harm you or the kitling,” Marcel says. “But alcohol is a poison and overconsumption might harm the kit or cause the body to self cleanse. It’s in my interest that you survive. So if you’re foolish enough to go through with this, I’ll do my best to make sure both of you survive. I’m not happy about this. When I smelled you weren’t using condoms during your Heat, this is what I feared. I’m tired of having friends, allies, and family die. So my recommendation stands - drink the tea. Now, unless you’ve got any pressing questions, I’d like to return to my room.”

“Naturally. Thank you, dear,” Dick says and lays his hand on top of Marcel’s on his belly, squeezing it lightly and pressing down a bit. Marcel’s scent goes almost completely neutral, but Dick knows that means he’s clip-clip-clipping his scent to hide feelings. Dick lets go of his hand and Marcel slowly retrieves it, then gets up and leaves the room without a backward glance, head held high.

Arvid giggles. “Damn. You’re triggering the good Professor’s Alpha instincts to go off the charts.”

Aiden grins. “He smelled like I feel.”

Dick’s tempted to ask what feelings the two of them picked up that he didn’t, but by their reaction, it must have been a positive one, and frankly, he needs time alone to process what just transpired. So instead he tugs on Aiden. “Didn’t you hear him? I’m supposed to make lots of love. I’m going to need you for that.”

Not much is needed to get Aiden back to the original mood he was in when he came, and Arvid purrs, pleased with having two fools make love beside him, instead of getting annoyed by it. Packrunners are strange that way.

Strangely, Dick's never freaked out by the thought that he's pregnant. In fact, he doesn't feel much one way or another. He has one weird thought that maybe he's destined to love Lucifer one way or another, and that it's startling to find out that it's going to be a parent's love this time around. He shakes the thought off but he can't shake the feeling of waiting to meet someone again. The 'again' is the strange part he can't fully shake. Apart from that, he's calm and content with the pregnancy. He changes his diet and follows Marcel's advice, but doesn't dwell on what's happening inside of him. It's strange behavior to the people around him but he keeps his focus on what's happening in the city.

He overhears several interesting conversations. He catches Aiden surprising Jason with a gift - a set of one golden watch, golden cufflinks, and a tiepin. "To match your new outfits," as Aid puts it. Aiden acts towards Jason as if they're friends now and as if it's something to be proud of. And Jason walks around smelling happy, looking proud, wearing his new accessories with his new suits.

Dick overhears another, much more alarming conversation.

"... stupid! A complete waste of time! I was assigned to care for kits and do house chores, not learn to read. And why should they get to decide when I go visit my parents? It's absurd. I'm 6 years old, I don't need a babysitter. And now they're infringing on my right to worship too!" It’s one of the Alpha servants going off. Dick can smell him and Naomi from his hiding place beside the doorway in the next room.

"You're allowed to leave, Floyd, nobody's stopping you. You just can't enter again if you leave without an escort. It's a fair deal. Nobody's stopping you from worshipping either. All we're asked to do is wear the symbol of the star on the inside of our clothes, close to our hearts," Naomi argues.

"Why do I have to listen to you? The only reason they put you in charge is that they're pandering to the Packrunners. No Omega should be put in charge of Alphas."

Dick jumps in fright as Marcel sweeps past him, releasing his scent, and strides into the room where Floyd and Naomi are arguing. Dick remains listening, and jerks at the sound of a hard slap. "You're a conscript and this is where you are stationed for the war. Your superiors and chores are chosen for you and you're expected to follow them. Now I hear you complaining that you can't go visit your parents without company whenever you like, that the Williams pack is granting you a costly education for free, and that a superior of yours is an O, chosen for her education, competence, and diplomatic abilities. If any of this is too hard of a pill for you to swallow, by the grace of the One, I'll be happy to have you reassigned to the front."

"What? No, Sir. Everything is fine, Sir. I just think it's unfair that we need to hide our stars or smear blood on them. Packrunners shouldn't have to dictate what gods we pray to."

"They're not. They're only dictating what symbols we display in their homestead. I'm sure you too would take offense if strangers came into your home and put up symbols of Athena, Donarrion, Oden, or, the Light forbid, Maluk."

"That's different, Sir."

"No, it isn't. This isn't an open discussion. Your government ordered you to serve here. Our hosts are generous enough to offer you to visit relatives and to get an education. You're either ungrateful or incapable of following orders. Whichever you are, consider this a warning. One more insubordination and I'm sending you to the frontline. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Good. How about you, Naomi? Do you have any complaints?"

"No, Sir." 

"Very well. Dismissed. Both of you."

Dick hears the Conservatives scramble to leave the other direction, then Marcel comes breezing back into the room, jerking his head for Dick to follow.

Dick hurries after him up the stairs and into Marcel's room where he closes the door. Marcel turns to face him. "Five of the Conservatives have the same opinions as Floyd, except they're smart enough to realize that this is the only way to get a free education. Three of them are best sent to the front or made to have accidents or they might turn traitor. I'd like permission to… solve… the problem."

"That might frighten the others to not trust us."

Marcel snorts and gives him a look full of disdain. "Your lack of faith in my abilities is insulting. Very well. Have it your way."

Dick grabs Marcel by the upper arm. "I don't doubt you can make it look like they have accidents, dear. But hold off for now. And please, give me their names. I’m sure we’ll find a way to resolve this without scaring the others."

Dick doesn’t know it yet, but the problem with the disloyal servants is about to solve itself…

* * *


	28. Soothsayer: History Rewritten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something awful that could've ended in a catastrophe happens. Only, this time around the playing field doesn't look the same as in Dick's strange memories from another life.

* * *

More mercs drop in, one or two at a time, reporting that they’ve delivered their messages and that the Commander is in contact with the other merc companies. Most mercs only report in before leaving to stay in New York. Once again, Dick doubts the wisdom of letting them go instead of keeping them on the premises, but Arvid says, “Trust us. We know what we’re doing.” So Dick does. Still, they have about 50 mercs stationed in their home now, and that’s comforting. Laws keep changing but not much happens in the city. The Urchins report that the police presence in New York is out of proportion with how many people there are left to keep in line. They also report that the police are being outfitted with gear more suited for the military. Something’s up, but nothing’s happening. 

Arvid’s healing, allowed to use his feet a little bit, and a little bit more. People start acting different around Dick now that they can smell he’s pregnant. Naomi is excited, purring contentedly with a twinkle in her eyes when she’s around him, Sandra is silently worried and spends a night in Dick’s bed just so they can talk since she too was young when she had her first kit and that pregnancy was very hard, unlike when she was expecting Anna. Alphas turn jittery, excited, strangely affectionate, and eager to impress whether they know him or not. Basically, smelling pregnant makes for pleasant living.

The first pack members arrive home. All of them have received the letters in strange ways. Finding it beside their pillow when they woke up, inside their boots, or other places where they’re certain to find them but not expecting to. Just as predicted, all of them had understood something’s very wrong.

Aiden sleeps with Dick and Arvid almost every night. He’s a comforting presence over the day, offering advice and support. They talk a lot, finding their way back to their old friendship and surpassing it for closeness. Aiden’s also courting Jason like he’d promised he’d do, trying to win his unquestionable loyalty.

Then they get a phone call from City Hall, telling them that all inhabitants of their home―that includes the servants―must come down there at once, and Dick knows with all certainty that this is it. This is what he’s been waiting for. 

It’s too soon. 

Arvid should’ve been fully recovered before it happened. On the other hand, he doesn’t know how long it took Laurent to find them, and Arvid’s feet didn’t need to be rebroken last time.

The intrusive thought comes with vertigo and confusion before he can focus on what the clerk on the other end of the line has to say.

Supposedly, they’ve gotten a summons in the mail (they haven’t) and hadn’t responded, but the time of the appointment they were assigned can’t be changed anymore. (Oh really?) If they don’t show up they stand to lose their companies and will be considered to have committed treason. (I see.) Dick listens to the utter bullshit spouted on the other end of the line, delivered by a very apologetic clerk, mentally crosschecking it to all the new laws. “I’m terribly sorry, Sir. There’s nothing I can do. I’m sure it can be resolved if you just come here,” the clerk says.

After Dick’s hung up he stares at his notes, feeling like a damned soothsayer. This is what he told Jane and the rest of the pack would happen, in the dining hall before he left for the military. 

He shakes himself, gets up and goes to gather the pack and Marcel. Once they’re all in one of the conference rooms he reads the notes from the phone call to them. Jane panics and wants to gather up everyone to race to City Hall. But Jane’s not their leader anymore, Dick is. “It’s a trap,” he says decisively. “As far as they know, the only Williamses here are the ones they allowed to stay at home. Why would they need our kits to come down to City Hall? Or our servants? How would that have anything to do with our companies?”

At that exact moment, there’s a knock on the door and one of the Demon’s Lot comes inside. “Sir? We’ve got movement in the city,” she says, then tells them the bridge is getting closed off for all traffic except pedestrians, there’s a huge force of police outfitted in the new riot gear on the move, by the looks of it towards the Hales’ territory, and the straightest way from Long Island through Hale territory towards City Hall is getting cleared of any people by the police. While she’s talking, her radio beeps and there’s an incoming message. A group of American mercenaries is setting up an ambush on a stretch of the area that’s been cleared. It’s not any of the mercenary companies that have worked for the Union. The assessment is that these are ex-career soldiers for hire, used to work in a group but not belonging in a regular mercenary company together. And none of them is armed with firearms, which the Demon’s Lot find strange.

The room falls silent after the message. “They wouldn’t,” Jane whispers to herself, eyes wide.

“They _are_ , which is why I challenged you, dear,” Dick says kindly. He looks at his pack. “According to one of the new laws, failure to comply with a governmental summons can be forgiven without punishment if the person died while trying to comply, or if they’re currently on active war duty. This is a trap for us. They’re planning to kill us then pretend they had nothing to do with it. The threat to have us lose what we own is empty. If we walk into the trap, the rest of the pack will still own what we own and never find out that the government threatened to seize what we own. That’s why they never sent a summons by mail, so there’d be no proof in writing that they’re behind it. If we don’t go, they’ll have to let it slide or make that first aggressive move to steal what’s ours. But they’re trying to be stealthy. They don’t want us to know they’re coming for us.” That’s what Mar had said Coombs kept repeating. ‘ _We don’t want them to know we’re coming for them_ ’.

“So we don’t go,” Sandra says.

Dick nods. “Mmh. Obviously. I just wish there was a way to find out exactly who’s paying for the mercs. I’m sure Marcel already knows, but a previous promise prevents him from talking,” Dick says with a glance at Marcel’s expressionless face, then looks at the mercenary with the radio. “Could you apprehend one or two of them?”

“We can. But, Sir? If I may make a suggestion?” she says. Dick motions for her to talk. “What if we go as you? We’ll catch all of them in an ambush of our own, spread the misinformation that you got killed and apprehend the other mercs. We’re already in place for an ambush. All we need is bait. If we play the bait, posing as you?”

“You don’t smell like us,” Sandra points out.

“True. But each of you can claim one of us, the kits can mark up their dolls to be used as replicas of them, and the higher-ups won’t know the truth because they never come down and smell the corpses after an ambush they’ve set up. They’d have to trust reports. It’ll work as long as those doing the footwork don’t know the people they’re attacking. It’s not the first time we’ve pulled a play like that.”

“Any instances we might know about?” Sandra asks, intrigued.

The merc rattles off a few examples. Dick and Sandra share a look. Some of those examples Dick knows nothing of. But some of those are instances where the reports they’d been given were so muddled and conflicting that he’d been prompted to ask prisoners about it, never getting any clarity.

Dick bites his lip with a thrill of excitement. “Yes. Please, do that and bring the prisoners here. That’s our first priority. But the police force is troubling. You said they weren’t heading for the ambush site. Could you point out on a city map where they’re traveling?” he asks her.

She radios her company while someone produces a map of the city. She then shows them the roads traveled and in what direction. “Oh dear. The Hales’ core home is here,” Dick says and points at the map with a ball of ice in his belly. “It looks like they’re heading that way. If you can afford to divert any manpower to help the Hales against whatever they’re about to be subjected to, I want you to do that.”

“Yes, Sir.”

This is big. Whatever’s going down, is big. Dick’s gaze snags on the dark-stained star on Marcel’s chest and his mind leaps to his own stabbing. Last time something big went down in New York it was the Bolton pack war. The packs had come together to defend themselves and any innocents against the Boltons, yet Dick got stabbed by strangers convinced Packrunners had gone on a killing rampage. The government is silencing any journalists that tell the truth. Whatever happens, people will believe what they’re told by the government since they control the news. Unless… Dick suddenly remembers something Jason said when Dick eavesdropped on his conversation with Phillip. “Then ask the Hales to round up any tidings kits they can find, and to call a meeting for us with the Pyre-wagon drivers,” he orders. The government can keep the newspapers. Dick will take control of the most trusted news outlets for the illiterate people. 

In the back of the gathering, Phillip starts cackling. He laughs until he’s crying and wheezing.

“Mind sharing with the class?” Aiden asks him when Phillip’s laughed himself out. 

Phillip clucks in amusement. “They love it. Yes they do. _They_ don’t like it, oh no, but they love it,” he answers with a grin.

Knowing Phillip, he’s talking about different ‘theys’ and it doesn’t make any sense. Dick shakes himself. “Very well. First order of business is to gather our Conservatives and inform them we’re about to stop them from adhering to a governmental summons. Those that protest and insist on going will be allowed to travel with our decoy but they’ll cease to be under our protection. That means that if they perish in the ambush, they’ll perish.” He taps his lips in thought with a glance at Marcel. “In fact, they will perish, or they might tell the government we’ve hired mercenaries,” he says and gives his merc a pointed look, getting a nod of understanding. “The only one who isn’t allowed to leave is Naomi. I value her as a teacher too much.”

Thankfully, Naomi doesn’t protest when Dick says they must stay for their own protection. Floyd loudly demands to go. In the end, seven Conservatives decide to go with those who leave for the City. The remaining Conservatives are ordered to mark up a merc to substitute them. Dick doesn’t tell them of the ambush, of course. He tells them the mercs are to act as their envoys. He doesn’t tell them about the demand to show up in person, while he does tell them the law says failure to comply will count as treason, he strongly hints that sending a substitute will be enough.

Only pack members the government expects to be at home mark up a substitute merc. A few almost lifelike porcelain dolls with stuffed bodies are marked up by the kits, then carried by the mercs as if they were real kits and not just expensive toys. Dick had been skeptical as to how a doll would fool anyone, but once the mercs are lined up carrying the kit-smelling dolls, he realizes it will probably fool anyone that doesn’t take their time for a proper sniff and look. Satisfied, he gives the all-clear. 

And then, they wait.

* * *

The attack on the Hales is based on a new law taking effect the same day, which states that no criminal is allowed to raise kits. Since the Hales are a pack and a pack is judged as a cohesive unit, the few convicted felons amongst the Hales are enough for the police to come to seize all the kits and young Juvies. They come bearing firearms, expecting resistance. They’re not expecting the Hales to be forewarned, nor for the mercenaries fighting alongside them to be armed with better equipment and decades of experience. A good portion of the police force has been killed by the end of the day. The Hales have lost people too, but only a small portion, and all their kits are still safely with them.

The American mercenaries that survive the attack on the ambush-decoy are apprehended by the Demon’s Lot. The Conservatives that had gone to the city were killed, and Dick’s told the American mercs did it. The Demon's lot never had to do anything aside from not defending them. Not that it changes anything. If the American assassins hadn’t done it, the Demon’s Lot would have, as ordered.

“Their main target was the kits. And if we hadn’t been prepared, we too might have lost people in that ambush. But the first to go were the kits,” Archer reports and shows Dick the dolls. “By the time they noticed they were only dolls and shifted their full focus on us, it was too late for them.”

Dick listens to the full report with a sense of dread under his outward calm. If Jane had been the Main, everyone would’ve been slaughtered. Kits and adults alike.

Archer tells him that if they hadn’t been forewarned and had backup and guns, they would have struggled. The American mercs used scentblockers and ‘nose-killers’, a chemical weapon that took out your sense of smell. Dick remembers those from training but had never come in contact with them at the front. Archer tells him all their prisoners carried vials of secretion belonging to the Hales, and the government’s plan is suddenly clear as day - to start another pack war, blaming the Hales. 

Dick gathers everyone present at the Williams estate, showing them the dolls and the corpses of the Conservatives that insisted on adhering to the summons. He lets the servants meet the mercs that replaced them, and tells the servants of the ambush. "Those that meant to kill us all have been imprisoned. But they were paid and will be interrogated so we can find out who wanted to kill you," he promises, emphasizing that the servants were as much a target as the Williamses. He wants them to understand that the government doesn’t care about them.

Naomi stands facing the Omega merc she'd marked up to represent her while Dick’s nearby talking to someone else. "What's your name?" she asks.

"Daniella. But most call me Dandy," the merc answers. She looks tired and beat up, but smells content and has a gleam of pride in her eyes.

Naomi raises her hand to gently touch the mostly coagulated blood on Dandy's temple. "You're hurt."

"Yes, ma'am."

Naomi touches Dandy’s cheekbone gently. "You were meant to be me. They meant to do that to me. I wouldn't have survived."

"Most likely, no, ma'am. They were cruel and efficient fuckers."

Naomi swallows. "You went to die in my stead and you don't even know me."

Dandy huffs and smiles. "That's my job, ma'am. It's nothing personal."

Naomi shakes her head. "No. It's very personal. I would die to protect the kits in my care but I could never have traded my life for a strangers' for money."

Dandy grins. "Then you definitely would have died. The kits were their main target. Hey, Archer! Get me one of the dolls, will you?" Archer throws the doll that smells like Anna over. Dandy catches it and hands it to Naomi. "This would have been done to the kit. They were out to have all of you executed, ma'am. No witnesses."

Naomi stares at the destroyed doll with horror. She turns it over to see all the spots where the stuffing’s poking out, then turns it over again to carefully touch the broken porcelain of the doll’s head, hand trembling a little as it hovers over the blood spatter belonging to defenders and enemies alike. Tears are forming in her eyes as she presses the doll to her chest with one arm and reaches out to hug Dandy to her with the other arm.

“Oh, hey, hey, everyone’s okay. Nothing happened,” Dandy says, awkwardly patting Naomi’s back. When Naomi doesn’t let go, Dandy gives up and hugs her back. Dick can see something go soft in the merc’s eyes when she starts to purr soothingly for Naomi. “It’s okay, ma’am. Everyone’s fine. None of you got hurt. The kits are fine,” she soothes.

When Naomi reluctantly lets go she’s got tear streaks on her cheeks. “Are you so badly hurt you need the doctor or may I take care of you and patch you up?” she asks. 

Dandy’s eyebrows raise in surprise for a beat before she smiles warmly. “You can do that. Thanks, ma’am.”

“Please. Call me Naomi.”

Dick had ordered his pack to make things personal for the mercenaries, but Naomi and a few of the other servants’ honest reaction to their stand-ins’ injuries do a lot to reach that goal. 

In an effort to keep up the charade for the servants, Dick orders pyres built for those that had gone to the city. As far as he’s concerned they could’ve been dumped on the city streets to be collected and burned on the Pyre, but he’s trying to ensure the servants’ loyalty. The last thing he wants is to let them know he was planning to do away with those who were disloyal, so he puts up a show of honoring them.

Naomi requests to be allowed to watch the interrogation of the prisoners. Dick doubts the wisdom of that, but agrees to let her be present for a few interrogations anyway. Seeing her hard-eyed, stoic hatred during the proceedings, he knows it was the right call.

Two of the most prominent politicians in NY, Perelli, and Jacobs, are named by the prisoners. But notably, the person that fed them the money to fund the attack is an Aristocrat named Larkinson, and he lives in Iowa with no notable connections to NY. It’s a reminder that this is a nationwide problem.

Dick leaves Aiden and Sandra in charge and goes to the meetings with the Hales, Pyrefolk, and tidings kits. He comes home with the results he wants, and now all he has to do is wait to see if it pans out as he hopes it will. If it does, he’s got Jason to thank for it. He never would have considered getting the Pyrefolk involved otherwise.

* * *

Commander Chaadayev arrives with five other mercenary Commanders and Dick’s surprised four of them are Os. Arvid finds it funny. “Os are much more often leaders in Primal companies,” he tells Dick. Once again, Dick’s Conservative bias keeps him from thinking like a Packrunner and he hates it. He negotiates to get the new companies in his employ and is informed that a few others might show up later, but that they’re down in Texas to help the Teshyas pack get rid of the Union once and for all. At least, now the Williamses have an adequate military presence on their side until the rest of the pack shows up.

* * *

Dick stands talking to Naomi by a window on the second floor when the gates open. The two of them interrupt their conversation to look out of the window. What Dick sees makes him suck in a breath. "Oh my. I might be swooning," he says and jokingly fans himself, heart tripping in his chest.

Naomi giggles. "He's quite dashing, Sir," she agrees and presses her hand to her chest, eyes locked on one of Dick’s mates.

"He?" Dick says pointedly and raises an amused eyebrow at her.

"They all are," she corrects herself, avoiding eye contact and dusting invisible dust off her shoulder, cheeks tinting pink.

Dick looks out at the column of riders trotting in through the gates dressed in full regalia. Naomi is right, though. Only the right rider in the second pair truly causes the swooning since he's the only one riding with the regal air of a Conservative aristocrat, posture and mannerism differing from the rest even on horseback. Dick’s never truly shaken that ideal, but he thinks that maybe it’s not a heritage from his parents, but rather just his own preference. Everyone who comes riding in is a good rider. He can see that. They’ve all got good posture. That’s not it. Heck, most Primals would consider Mar’s posture looking like he’s a snob with a stick up his ass compared to the more relaxed posture of his companions. But Dick, and, judging by Naomi’s gaze, Naomi, prefer the stuck-up snob aesthetic. "I better go down to meet my mates," he mumbles, yet remains standing watching for a few more seconds.

Jed and Sean ride first, Mar and an Omega Dick thinks is named Leoh ride second. After them come six more pairs of riders, then a sole rider carrying the American flag, and behind him comes a column of Jeeps and trucks. 

The pack's finally returned.

By the time Dick's made it down to the entrance, the column of riders has stopped in front of the stairs up to the grand entrance. They’re all still ahorse, grim-faced and forbidding. Jed’s talking to one of the pack members that arrived two weeks ago. Dick’s heart keeps squeezing. He can’t see Laurent or Malicia, but then again, they might be in the trucks or Jeeps and he has trouble tearing his eyes from his three mates atop their mounts. Now that they’re here, he feels how painfully much he’s missed them, each and every one of them. Having several mates is difficult for him. He always feels like he’s neglecting someone if he doesn’t pay them all the exact same amount of attention. It’s easier when there’s only one person around to pour every ounce of love on, as he’s done with Aiden. He has no idea how to show his mates how overjoyed he is to see them now that they have arrived all at the same time.

Marlon spots Dick and the choice is taken from him. All that cold dignity in his comportment is vaporized. He lets out a high-pitched squeal of joy, startling the horses, and throws himself to the ground, then runs, yipping in happiness like a dog reunited with a long lost owner. He bounds up the stairs and slams into Dick with no dignity at all, hugging him, spinning him in the air, then burrowing his nose by Dick’s neck. Instantly, he yelps another high-pitched squee and drops to his knees, pressing his nose into Dick’s belly to purr a promise of devotion and love. Dick’s reeling, but not because of Marlon’s joy of discovering Dick’s pregnancy. Mar’s mating bond has almost faded. Dick’s too, he just hadn’t noticed it because all the other ones are still strong. He grabs Mar’s hair and pulls, trying to get him to rise. Mar tilts his head up with a face-splitting grin, pretty lilac flare glowing strong. “We’re going to be dads!” he declares, then turns his head to yell back to Jed and Sean, “We’re going to be dads!”

“You’re not going to be a dad unless you come back up here and reconfirm our bond, dear,” Dick points out.

Mar just grins at him, hugs him around the ass and buries his nose back into Dick’s belly. 

Dick considers going to his knees himself but then he sees Jed and Sean walking up the stairs, smiling at him. Sean is the first one to reach Dick. He reaches out, cups Dick’s neck and leans in to rub their necks together before nosing the gland behind Dick’s ear and licking the secretion. “I’ve missed you,” he mumbles.

“I’ve missed you too, dear.”

Jed comes to stand on Dick’s other side, both of them crowding Marlon who remains in position, purring into Dick’s belly. Jed greets Dick with a kiss on the lips before mimicking Sean, rubbing their necks together, sucking on the gland. “Tonight we’re going to knot you so raw you won’t be able to walk tomorrow,” Jed promises, low and filthy voice tickling the shell of Dick’s ear. 

“Oh dear,” Dick breathes, arm’s slipping around the waist of both Alphas. He wants nothing more than to siphon them, kiss them, let them overtake him. He’s not sure why he doesn’t.

“I love you,” Sean says.

“You’ll be so thoroughly fucked people will think you’ve been in a fight. The indents of my fangs will last for a week,” Jed husks. Below, Mar chirps and purrs, putting his cheek to Dick’s belly, hugging him closer.

Dick means to come up with an answer but instead of words he lets out a whimper. He’s getting riled up by a simple ‘hello’. He’s met Sean and Jed enough times during the war to know that Sean seeks emotional intimacy in bed and sex outside of it, while Jed is the opposite, and will fuck ferally once duties are done and they’re in private, but wants intimacy in the stolen moments between duties during the day.

Jed and Sean suck on a gland each, then bend their necks to lean their foreheads against Dick to siphon. Dick waits. He’s yearning to do the same, to Jed in particular, but it will have to wait. “I trust you got my letter?” he asks, trying to keep his voice steady.

Jed straightens up. “Yes. Some of us weren’t sure if it was the real deal, but I recognized your handwriting. You’re my new Main?”

“I am.”

Jed nods towards the wall around the perimeter behind them. “There are a lot of faces I don’t recognize up there. Care to explain?”

“We’ve hired mercenaries, dear. Now, don’t go frowning like that at me. Every single inhabitant left at home except Phillip would’ve been dead if I didn’t. I’ll tell you in great detail once everyone has settled in.”

“On our way home news reached us that our mates and kits had died, but what we heard was unclear and contradictory,” Sean says. He looks drugged even after only siphoning once.

“It did? Good. The longer it takes for the government to figure out we actually survived their ambush, the better. But, as I said, I’ll tell you later.”

Jed nods his acceptance, then he huffs in amusement. “I’ve spent a good portion of the trip home berating Marlon for not using condoms, then I come home to find my mate pregnant too. Who’s the lucky guy?”

“That would be Aiden.”

“Aiden?” Marlon looks up in surprise. “Are you sure?”

Dick spots a glittering star on Mar’s chest and barely keeps from wincing, clipping his scent briefly to hide sudden nausea until he’s gotten it under control. He’d forgotten about Marlon’s new religion. “Unless kitlings spontaneously start growing with no input from a lover, then yes,” he answers with an amused quirk to his lips.

“I’ll be damned,” Sean says with a grin. “I thought he never wanted to father kits.”

“Well. He did. So. Will you go take care of what you need to do? The sooner we can have our duties over with and seek privacy, the better.”

“How long gone are we?” Marlon asks, looking up at him but not getting to his feet.

“About two months,” Jed answers. “And he’s in prime health still.”

Dick nearly asks how he knows, but then he realizes Jed’s siphoned him and should know. “His name is Lucifer,” he offers instead. It causes another bust of happiness in the scent of all his mates. Jed grins, turns towards the riders in the courtyard and yells, “Hey, Michael! Your namesake will have a younger sibling named Lucifer!”

Michael’s currently holding Jed, Sean, and Marlon’s horses. He grins, wide and surprised. “I can see something beautiful happening here!”

“His namesake?” Dick asks.

“Mar knocked up Mal three months ago,” Sean sniggers.

Mar gets to his feet with a sheepish look. “We sought solace with each other when I thought we’d lost you to the mercs. It just happened.”

“I thought you and Aid came to the Shurley camp together?” Dick asks in confusion. “Surely, Aid must have told you I blew up the camp to save Arvid?” Dick asks. Mar looks like a living question mark. “Oh dear. He didn’t. I see. Well then. The only merc that nearly got me was Arvid’s commander. At the time he didn’t know I wasn’t the one who’d sharded Arvid, so he wasn’t exactly inclined to be friendly.”

Mar frowns, unsure gaze flicking between Jed and Dick. “Sharded? What’s that?”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Jed says decisively. “You’ll get to know soon enough. You and Sean go take care of your horses. I need to trade a few words with our new Main in private.”

Both Mar and Sean are reluctant to leave but do as they’re told when Jed flares and shows his teeth with teethed canines. Jed watches them go before he sweeps Dick up in a hug and spins him around, burying his nose by his neck much the same way Mar had done. Dick giggles and finally sucks on Jed’s gland to siphon. Jed’s in prime physical health but his emotional state is a mess behind the strong happiness he feels at being reunited. There’s also something missing. Something vital, that Dick’s never smelled him without. He can’t put his finger on what.

“Athena, it’s good to be home,” Jed mumbles and squeezes Dick’s ass when he puts him down. “Can’t wait to have you on all fours, keening on my knot.”

Dick sniggers. “Oh my, you’re unusually horny. I thought you needed to speak with me in private?”

“You don’t expect me to always be the bigger man, do you? The pups can have their time later,” Jed smirks. “Besides, if you’re my Main, we’re about to start having fights, and I want to make love to you before you realize that.”

Dick laughs and rubs himself against Jed, marking him up affectionately. 

“Who are they?” Jed asks. “Your new friendship bonds. One of them smells familiar but I can’t place him.”

“That would most likely be Marcel Bolton. He goes by the name Przodownik these days and he’s masking as a Conservative. I ask you to uphold that illusion in front of the servants. The other bond you smell is Arvid Mattsson. I’m planning to have him join the pack but I think only Mar can make that happen.”

“And how’s Jane? She’s still alive, I can smell her on you, but something awful must have happened to her if you’re Main,” Jed says. Dick raises an eyebrow dryly. “I’m just saying that you’re very young to be a Main,” Jed adds.

“Keep talking like that and you’re about to sleep in the shed behind the stables for a month, dear. I’m the Main because I’m suited for it and I won’t let anyone take my pack away from me. Certainly not because they think age means wisdom. Jane’s fine. She’s alive because I’m in the position I’m in. You’ll be updated later, as promised,” Dick says. He’s smiling but doesn’t manage to keep the bite out of his tone.

“ _Dicky!!!_ ” Mal’s voice catches their attention. Dick turns his head to see Mal come running from one of the trucks with a radiant grin, her long hair captured in a braid, swishing behind her as she runs.

Jed kisses his temple. “I love you, Richard. Now, go say your hellos.”

* * *

Getting reunited with everyone takes time but is also pure relief and joy. The pack is smaller today than before the war, something Dick makes a mental note to rectify. He calls a pack meeting to update everyone. There are a few members that question if maybe he’s too young to be a Main. Dick says that any O yearning for death is welcome to challenge him, but when Jane and Sandra show their support for him everyone seems content to settle without any challenges to his leadership, at least for now. His update on what’s been going on puts a damper on the sense of joy people have at coming home, just like the list of dead in the war with the Union saddens the ones who’d been left at home. Dick realizes he recognizes two of the names listed as Jed’s other mates and that’s the difference in his scent that he’d smelt. It’s no wonder Jed’s emotional state is a mess. But Jed doesn’t show it.

Next up comes telling Jed and Sean about what really happened when he blew up the Shurley camp. Aiden’s with him when he does that. By then Dick can feel the compulsion to cement his bond with Jed. It’s like a beat in the back of his head repeating ‘doitdoitdoit’ over and over. He can ignore it since he knows that in a few hours he’ll get to release that tension. Still, it’s tempting to order everyone out so he can finally bond with his Patriarch and then resume this meeting afterwards. Heck, he might have suggested it if they weren’t interrupted.

Jed’s office door bangs open with such force that Dick dives for cover under the desk and Sean’s pulled his gun before either of them registers what’s happening. Dick sees Jed relax and Sean lower his gun with a so-sick-of-your-shit expression. He pops up behind the desk to see what his mates are looking at. Marlon stands, frantically looking around. When Dick sits back up Mar’s eyes land on him. “Is it true?!” Mar demands with a burst of despair in his scent.

“Is what true, dear?” Dick asks gently, unsure what tragedy has Mar so distressed, but he assumes he’s found out how close he came to losing Anna.

“That you get flashbacks of your murder anytime you see me wearing the star or invoking the Light? That you won’t renew our mating bond unless I burn the Light within?”

Dick tenses up and averts his gaze, plastering on a smile. “It’s gotten better. I’ve started to get it under control.”

Mar looks like Dick stabbed every word straight into his chest. “Nonono, _no_.” With three big strides, he’s come around the desk and gone to his knees between Dick’s legs. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I thought it was something I had to put up with,” Dick answers quietly, feeling, rather than seeing, how that answer upsets everyone in the room. But the other Alphas keep quiet to let Mar and Dick resolve this. Dick wasn’t present when Arvid and Marlon were reunited. He doesn’t know exactly what Arvid said. He’s not sure he would have dared to make any demands from Mar about his religion for fear of losing him. But Arvid has no such qualms so Dick rides that wave of courage and says, “But he’s right. If you don’t forsake the Light, I won’t reconfirm our mating bond.” It's a lie. He loves Mar too much.

Mar takes the star pin from his chest and hurls it into the fireplace, then looks back up at Dick with heartbroken eyes. “It’s forsaken. I could never hurt you. Never let me hurt you like that. If I do, _tell me_. You’re my light, Richard! I love you. Don’t let me hurt you like that again,” he says, eyes glossy and full of sincerity.

Dick’s smile wavers. 

That easy. 

He’d been worrying for nothing. He feels tears press on the inside of his eyelids and squeezes his eyes shut. He hadn’t realized the extent of hurt he’d continuously felt about Mar’s faith until now, and the relief is overwhelming. A sob tears at him. Then another. Before he knows it he's on the floor clinging to Mar crying his eyes out while Jed holds them both, purring soothingly. Mar keeps sobbing "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," into the skin of his neck, smelling of guilt.

It takes a while to cry himself out. It's possible that he cries for more than just Mar's willingness to give up his faith. Months of tension, worrying, and drama takes its due. But finally, he gets himself under control and leans back. Aid hands him a handkerchief to blow his nose. "Oh dear. Here I am trying to convince you that I'm a good leader, and instead, I break down and cry like a kitling," he laments, embarrassed.

Sean puts a hand on his shoulder and squeezes. "Baby, if you can't cry in front of us about personal issues, we're useless mates. You don't think every one of us has broken down into tears at one point or another? We have. It hasn't got anything to do with leadership abilities." He suddenly smirks. "On the other hand, throwing yourself in an icy river when you can't swim…?" he jokes.

Dick chuckles, ten times lighter and exhausted by the emotional drain. "In my defense, Arvid's survival was important, not my own."

"We need to have an extensive discussion about that," Jed says, a dark expression flickering over his face as he helps Dick and Mar to their feet, “Because I strongly disagree.” 

“Seconded,” Aid chips in.

“Okay, what did I miss?” Mar asks.

They settle down by the desk again, Mar joining them. Dick continues telling them of the journey home, starting from the point where he’d been interrupted; when he and Arvid had just jumped into the white water river. When he gets to the point where he pulled out the shards, Mar stops him with a concerned frown. “What are those?”

Dick explains and Mar has a visceral reaction of pure horror. Jed does a good job of calming him down, but Dick can still smell the distress on him long after he’s outwardly calmed down. Dick also gets the answer to why Mar didn’t know what happened despite arriving at the same time as Aiden. He’d been very upset. Both because he’d been tracking an O that to him smelt as good as Dick, that he’d decided would be his second mate, only to find the O was dead, and because he’d found out Arvid was the prisoner that had been ‘rescued by mercenaries that had taken Dick hostage’. Jed had decided to send Mar after the mercenary troop, sending him on a fool’s errand when Aiden had told him Dick was the one to blow up the camp. He hadn’t trusted Mar not to declare a pack war then and there.

Mar is, understandably, pissed. But he also concedes that if he’d known exactly what the Shurleys had done to Arvid, he might not have been content with the revenge Dick had meted out.

When Dick finds out Chuck was the O Mar had been tracking, he’s relieved he killed the guy. He has no qualms telling Mar what he felt about Chuck and admits without any hesitation that he killed him to keep Arvid and himself safe. He also tells Mar that he wants Mar and Arvid to get mated because Arvid’s all kinds of wonderful. Mar, who’d been very tense and pinched during Dick’s little speech about Chuck, gets an almost shy smile on his face, eyes lighting up. “You really think so?” he asks with a hopeful tone and a burst of happiness in his scent.

“I certainly do. I’ll never let him go, Mar. But I need you to hold on to him, otherwise, he might try to slip away,” Dick says, smiling back. “And it would get rather expensive to hire Aleksandr’s company indefinitely just to keep Arvid with us,” he jokes.

The talk goes on forever. Marcel and Sandra bring them the paperwork with all the new laws, and stick around while Jed, Sean, and Mar read them with hard expressions. Dick calls for Archer to come and give a detailed report about what went down the day of the ambush. All the detailed updates take forever, and Dick’s hoarse from talking by the time they call it a day.

If Dick hadn’t been the Main, Jed wouldn’t have had the natural right to sweep him off to be the first to reaffirm and redefine their bond. Once he’s done Dick’s other mates are allowed to come to join them. Dick admits to himself that having several mates is darn lovely when he can have them all close at once. And perhaps Jed too has a soothsayer in him because the morning after Dick’s so sore he can barely walk, sporting several magnificent bite marks and an array of cherished tough-love bruises.

* * *


	29. Talks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick has a couple of talks while his pregnancy hormones take control of his hormones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thank you to my Betas, Lisa and Melina, for taking their precious time to help me. <3

* * *

Arvid’s cleaning his rifle on the bed when Dick enters the room and goes to flop down onto an armchair with a heavy sigh.

“Rough day?” Arvid asks with a crooked smile, eyes sympathetic.

Dick groans. “You ever have days when you feel like digging in your fangs and ripping open the jugular of everyone you talk to?”

Arvid scoots one step further away from the armchair in mock fear before he grins. “You’d be surprised, but no. I’m not nearly as murderous as you’d think considering my profession. The Hales acting up?”

Dick growls. “I ask Jed to do one darn thing, and a week later, they’re still negotiating. _Negotiating_. What’s there to negotiate about? I gave an order. They should shut up and make it happen.” Dick raises his hand and snaps his fingers repeatedly to show how fast he wants things done.

“You want us to do it instead?" Arvid asks.

"I specifically _don't_ want that. I want the people I tell to get things done, to get things done. Speaking of getting done, why aren’t you and Mar mated yet?”

“Why aren’t you and Red mated?” Arvid counters lightheartedly.

At the mention of Aiden, Dick groans in annoyance and tips his head back to stare at the ceiling. “I don’t know. He’s immune or something.” His head snaps back up to scowl at Arvid. “Not the point. I asked first.” 

Arvid’s lips twitch in amusement. Then he points at Dick's hand. “What happened to your hand?" he asks, dodging the subject. Seeing Mar and Arvid together made it obvious why everyone had talked about Arvid as Mar’s, even back before Dick had ever met Arvid. It’s a mystery to Dick why the two of them aren’t mated yet. Especially considering how often they fuck. On the other hand, so do Dick and Aid, and they’re not mated yet either. Jane says that’s natural. Dick’s skeptical.

"Oh. Um," Dick hides his bruised knuckles in the palm of his other hand. "I decked one of the servants. Not one of my proudest moments.”

“ _Mrrt?_ ” Arvid asks.

Dick looks at his lap and scrapes at a non-existent spot of dirt on his thigh. “He, uh… I stumbled while helping to unload the truck that came in today and he questioned if I really should be carrying heavy crates now that I’m pregnant.”

Arvid laughs. 

Dick scowls at him. “It’s not funny! I hit a man for having a genuine concern for my health. There was exactly _no_ thought-process between him asking me and me laying him flat on his back. Next thing I knew I was standing there with an aching hand and a darn-awfully heavy crate on my foot.”

Arvid throws his head back and cackles. “To be fair, I don’t think you should ever be carrying heavy stuff, pregnant or not,” he, chuckling, points out when his laughter subsides. “You _do_ have a penchant for falling over.”

Dick’s lips twitch in self-deprecating amusement. He tips his head back and throws his arm over his face, hiding his eyes behind his elbow, not ready to be distracted from his mood-swing. “I apologized to the servant and you know what he said? ‘It’s okay, I’m used to it’.”

Arvid frowns. “Who hurt him? I haven’t seen any of your guys pick on the servants.”

“None of us. Naturally, I was angry all over again but this time on his behalf. Apparently, his parents and previous employers had thought it okay to use him as a punching bag anytime he didn’t measure up to their unrealistic expectations.”

“Is it Remy?”

Dick lifts his arm to peek at Arvid. “Yes. Did he tell you?”

“No, but he’s skittish around angry people.”

Dick covers his eyes again. “I feel awful for what I did. And I hope I didn’t ruin things with the servants. I want them to be loyal because they like it here and consider us the good guys. Not because they fear us.”

“I doubt it’ll be a problem. You weeded out the possible traitors and the rest are living the high life here. Did you know Naomi and a few other servants went to the Commander to thank him for what we did during the ambush?”

Dick removes the arm from his face and leans forward to rest his elbows on his thighs, looking at Arvid with acute interest. “No, I didn’t know that. What did she say?”

Arvid grins and assembles his rifle. “She knocked on the door and interrupted our briefing about a week after it happened. She wanted to speak with the Commander but clarified that what she wanted to say was meant for every one of us and that she spoke for all the servants, then she extended her thank yous for us putting ourselves in harm’s way and saving their lives. I can tell you, that’s not the norm for us. We’ve been working for the Union and other governments for too long, so it feels damn good to be acknowledged. You want to know what the Commander answered? I think you do, because he was giving you a boon.”

Dick rolls his eyes. “Of course I do. Quit stalling and spit it out.”

Arvid sniggers, gets up from the bed and goes to put his rifle in its case on his desk. “Darn, you’re a regular hornet these days, aren’t you?” he says when he turns around and leans his ass against the desk. Dick gives him a flat stare. Arvid holds up his hands in defeat. “Alright, alright. He said that we’re doing for money what you are doing for free. Naomi looked like she didn’t get it, so he explained…” He trails off with a snigger. “She looked pretty much like you do now. You get what your pack does, don’t you?”

“They’re soldiers.”

Arvid shakes his head. “No. You’re _protectors_. You’re not just some occasionally unruly branch of the military. You’re responsible for the safety of the people living on your territory. And, as the Commander explained to Naomi, you went into the business world to finance that protection. You don’t use taxpayer money to do it, as the government does. You’ve been dying in the protection of the people of New York, of the state, and ultimately, the country, for centuries, without demanding much in return. I get that it came as a revelation to Naomi, but it shouldn’t be news to you.”

There’s a difference between knowing something and grasping it. Dick purses his lips and hums thoughtfully. He needs to mull this over. “Could you be a doll and do me a favor, dear?”

“You know it, Chief.”

“Go find Mar and keep him distracted tonight. If I have him ignore me in favor of talking to Lucifer one more night, jugulars might actually get torn.”

Arvid grins. “You’re one weird pregnant O. Most Os get all infatuated with Alphas that coo over the kitling in their belly, but not you.” He shakes his head, amused. 

“In six months Lucifer will come out and Mar can spend all the time he wants with him without bothering me. Until then, I want Mar to spend time with me or stay the heck away,” Dick grumps.

“I don’t know if I’m doing you a favor or if you’re throwing me a bone, but consider it done,” Arvid agrees with a playful salute.

* * *

Dick slinks into Marcel’s room, shuts the door and leans against it. “Hello, dear. Mind if I stay with you tonight?”

Marcel's at his desk, writing. He looks over his shoulder. His eyelids are heavy. He looks drugged and smells content. "Your possessive mate?"

"He's with Arvid."

"In that case…" Marcel makes a sweeping gesture towards his bed then goes back to his writing. 

Dick goes to the bed and lays down. He smells the sheets and wrinkles his nose. "Are you fucking Aleksandr?"

"He's fucking me, not the other way around," Marcel says without looking up. "And with your size preference, I can recommend taking that ride."

"He's big?"

"By our standards. Mila used to complain about the size and shape of our penises. Now that I’ve finally met a purebred Siberian male, I’ve come to understand her complaint."

"And you can take someone that big? People keep saying I'm odd to appreciate Jay's size." Jason's called Big Jay by practically everyone now. Dick's shaken the nickname Donny, since Mar, as predicted, has forbidden it. But the mercs call him Don Richard, Don Roman, Don Williams, or Don Dick. Sometimes even pack members call him Don. He accepts it since it's also a title. There's nothing he can do about it. Just like his primal name, it's stuck. He’s a bit suspicious about his primal name since Arvid, Aiden, Jason, and Marcel have a tendency to be amused when they use it, but everyone else reacts as if it’s a perfectly good name to have and he hasn’t remembered to ask someone besides them what it means. Someone who might tell him the truth. It’s on his to-do list.

"Hardly,” Marcel answers. “But a Siberian will bite you and inject their drug to make it pleasurable. In fact, it's the only drug I know of that both gets you sky-high and is good for your health. So if you can convince him to bite you, you should." Which explains why Marcel looks drugged. Dick shudders, thinking of how Antoine went down from a single bite from Mila.

"No thanks. He smells weird." Not unpleasant, just strange. Strange enough to put Dick off from sex.

Marcel makes a noncommittal sound and keeps writing.

Dick rolls around in bed, marking it up, rubbing himself in the smell of sex and two Alphas. The Commander _does_ have a nice enough smell, it’s just strange, and, thankfully, not one that triggers horniness. He can’t say the same for Marcel’s scent. Dick flips over onto his back. Being pregnant is awful now at three months when it’s started to affect him. He’s got terrible mood swings, particularly towards anger and annoyance. And he’s so darn horny all the time. Luckily he’s got none of that morning sickness that Mal’s struggling with. They call it morning sickness but she’s nauseous 24 hours a day and can only eat certain foods. “Packrunners are strange.”

“You’re a Packrunner,” Marcel deadpans without diverting his attention from his task.

“I’m trying to be. But having so many mates… how do you do it?” Dick complains. “I’ve got four mates and two almost-mates and it feels like I’ve barely got enough time for one of them. Luckily, Jed’s mated to Jane too, Mal’s got Frederick, and it’s only a matter of time before Mar and possibly Laurent mate with Arvid. But that still leaves Sean and Aid. How do I make the time to both run the country _and_ make everyone understand how much I love them?”

Marcel snorts a laugh at Dick’s slip of the tongue saying ‘country’ instead of ‘pack’, puts down his pen, and turns his chair to face Dick head-on. “That’s not a Packrunner-specific problem. I’m 87 years old and I’ve been mated once, to a single O.” Dick’s eyebrows raise in surprise when Marcel says his age. Whether he’s talking about his birth age or presented age, he doesn’t look that old. Marcel sees his surprise and explains it. “Siberians live longer and I’m more than 50% mixed blood.” He makes a dismissive gesture. “But to stay on topic, not every Packrunner is cut out to have several mates with ease. It helps that we aren’t raised to regard our partner or our partner’s love as a possession, that we’re biologically wired to have several mates, and that we see love shared successfully from an early age. Still, not all of us can manage multiple, deep romantic relationships at once.”

Dick mulls this over, then glares at him. “You’re not very useful. I need to know how to manage it, not get told that some people can’t.”

Marcel smirks. “I’ve met people that have been mated to everyone of the opposite gender in their pack, and had mate-like relationships with everyone of the same gender. I think, I’m just speculating now, but, I think their secret is that the person they love the most is the one they’re with at any given moment.”

_So that’s Dean’s secret?_

Dick sits bolt-upright at the intrusive thought. He’s got no clue who Dean is or why he keeps thinking about him at random moments. He tried asking Phillip, but Phillip had wondered if he’d gone senile and questioned if he needed to have a CAT scan, whatever that is. The only thing Dick knows about Dean is that he needs to tell him that ‘Jed knows where he is’. Whoever ‘he’ is. “That’s more useful. I’ll try to keep that in mind. Maybe you know how to get rid of the horniness too?”

“The horniness?”

Dick flops back down with a frustrated sigh. “I’ve been horny for a month. It’s like my body wants to have sex 24 hours of the day. Like I’m in constant Heat except without the fever and physical discomfort. It’s distracting. At first, I thought it was the compulsion to re-confirm all my pack members’ bonds now that I’m the Main, but that’s done and I still get riled up as soon as an Alpha looks at me. Jane thought it might be the pregnancy. My conclusion is that Lucifer is a complete horndog and he has me paying the price.”

Marcel laughs. “He takes after his Alpha father then,” he jokes, then, more seriously he says, “It’s good. It’s a rare side effect of pregnancy, but then again, your body has always done what it can to give you the highest chance for survival, from what you and Tony have told me.”

“It’s not good,” Dick whines. “It’s frustrating. Unless…” he flips over, puts his ass in the air and wiggles his it invitingly, Omega pants straining. He isn’t showing yet but he’s gained some weight that makes his clothes tight. 26 days of constant horniness has evaporated all those doubts and hesitations he’s had about sex. Now _he’s_ the one thinking ‘thank you, who’s next’ and carving a notch in his bedpost. Not really, but unless his mates or someone else he loves dearly is readily available, he’ll go for any willing Alpha when the urge gets too distracting. And there are _a lot_ of them around. It’s driving Marlon mad which amuses Jed and Aiden something fierce.

“I think that would be unwise, Sweetkit. I don’t want to clash with the possessive one, and I’m trying to avoid a pack bond.”

“Then hide your darn scent and he won’t know,” Dick snipes. “Plus you were the one that said once every two weeks would be harmless when I asked about Jay.” Dick hasn’t slept with Jason again since that first time in Jason’s apartment, but by now he really, really wants to. It has very little to do with Jay and a lot to do with the constant horniness.

Marcel tilts his head as if he's considering. "True. But you're a Main now and our friendship bond is rather strong. You're a hazardous lay."

Dick whines, drops fangs and shows Marcel his teeth in discontent.

Marcel chuckles, gets up and comes to the bed. He stops at the foot of it, puts his hands behind his back, and watches in amusement as Dick gives his ass another inviting little wiggle.

“Oh, stop being so difficult. I know you want to. You don’t even have to waste time doing that other stuff you do to the servants. Just stick it in,” Dick complains. It’s not why he came here, it’s those darn hormones talking.

“Maybe I like doing that other stuff?” Marcel says, thoroughly amused now.

“Oh shush. Nobody asked your opinion,” Dick snipes.

“He says to his advisor,” Marcel narrates jokingly.

Dick takes a moment to choose between further annoyance or amusement. The joke was funny and wins out. He chuckles and tips to the side. 

Marcel lies down on his side beside him and supports his head in his palm. “So why are you here? You didn’t come for sex. Certainly not with all your mates at home. Definitely when your first complaint was that you feel you don’t have enough time for all of them. But you’re here. So talk.”

Dick reaches out to touch Marcel’s cheek, running a finger along his jawline. “Grow a beard. I want it to look like the one Antoine had. And that long coat you wore yesterday? Flowing from the waist down and tight up-top? I want you to make that your standard attire. Except I want the coats to have high band collars that you keep buttoned to make you look sterner. You may accessorize if you want.”

“You’re micromanaging again,” Marcel says with a smirk. Dick’s leadership has two modes. Either detailing the actions of someone minutely, or giving them a goal to achieve and no damn care or guidance as to how they’re supposed to achieve it so long as they get the job done. 

“Is that why you don’t want me as your Main?” Dick asks. By now everyone would welcome Marcel as part of the pack. Dick definitely would. Marcel’s a pain in the ass who will drop small comments to stir up conflict, but he’s a goldmine of knowledge who can give advice on a number of topics and provide a point of view that sometimes vastly differs from the soft-approach of the Williamses.

“Hardly. We’re very compatible. But why would I lessen my power by joining a pack with several very dominant Alphas in it? Plus the dominant pack in a territory is responsible for its defense. I’m a scholar at heart, it’s not the type of pack I want to join.”

It’s exactly what Arvid said before he came here. “Really? I thought that was just the Williamses? The Talons don't have fighters."

Marcel shakes his head. "No, it's all dominant packs. The Talons have just adapted to the modern society where they no longer need to fight and people living in their territory think the government is responsible for their safety. You could say that the government has taken the role of a protective pack. Your pack has adapted to the new society too by letting the government solve the territory's social issues. That used to be the responsibility of the dominant pack. They’d delegate to smaller packs, letting the smaller packs act in their stead on their territories. Like you saw us and the Hales do, to name an example."

Dick hums with a thrill of excitement. The Hales had given him rules to follow to be allowed to rent from them, like no stealing on their territory. They did what the police were supposed to do, but didn’t bother doing in the slums. Anyone approved to live on the Hale territory lived fairly safe and sound on their watch. So if Dick starts thinking of the Williams pack the same way... "Thank you. I think you just gave me the answer to a question that's been troubling me. So will you grow a beard and change the way you dress?"

"I'll contact a tailor tomorrow. I enjoy watching you get off on watching Conservatives bow and scrape for me as much as you enjoy seeing them do it. But naturally, you'll pay for it. Including the embroidery." 

"Naturally, dear." Marcel knows Dick pretty well by now. A highborn Conservative wouldn't see anything wrong with growing a beard, so a beard would further the illusion of Marcel's designation. Just like the unusual coat had made the servants react with more deference. Adding embroidery to the mix would simply make him look like a foreign aristocrat, that, according to Mar, is met with the same respect as an American aristocrat amongst aristocrats. Aristocrats respect old money, and Dick’s certain that as time progresses, it will be useful to have Marcel perfecting his illusion. Making him appear foreign would explain any oddities. "Say… you wouldn't know what happened between Mar and Jay? Until recently Mar hated his guts. Now he's asking if we can make Jay a full member, and he said that when he's out of town, maybe I could hook up with Jay since I like his big knot and all."

"I bet that last part was like pulling a tooth for him," Marcel sniggers.

"Oh, it certainly was. I don't understand why, though. He's been jealous of Jay's friendship with Aid, and, well… you know how he feels about anyone who’s had sex with me."

"Phillip happened,” Marcel answers with certainty. “Marlon discovered that Jay invites your veil walker into his room for drinks once or twice a week to talk for hours, frequently letting him stay the night. I've noticed that Marlon's very loving and protective of Phillip. My attitude towards him is also part of Marlon’s acceptance of me.” Marcel’s attitude towards Phillip was startling to Dick until he came to realize that Marcel’s convinced the old man is some kind of farseer that he calls a veil walker. Marcel puts up with cheek pinches, pats on the head, and being called a good boy, all while showing Phillip utmost respect and deference.

“Huh… Who’d have known it was that easy to change Mar’s mind.” Jason had been introduced to Mar as ‘Big Jay’ and somehow (probably through Marcel) he’d been told Dick loved how Jason’s huge knot felt inside of him (on second thought, definitely through Marcel), and Jay had been a persona non grata to Mar ever since. Dick had just started to despair about how he’d fix that when Mar suddenly changed overnight. “Oh, and I noticed you had a lengthy conversation with Phillip the other day?” Dick makes the statement a question.

Marcel grunts and makes a disgusted face. “A total waste of time. It usually is, talking to veil walkers. If you, like me, are trying to find out something important about the future. The only tangible thing I got from him is that we’re waiting for a gardener that will take care of his apple tree, and that he refuses to leave before, and I quote, ‘that blasted Aristocrat’ shows up. He was very agitated. Apparently, Aiden hasn’t slept with this gardener because you arrived here early, and he’s worried that means his tree might be cut down.” Marcel sniggers when he sees the blank look on Dick’s face. “I told you. A waste of time. But Phillip’s certain this man is en route to come here.”

Dick hums. “So if he comes we snipe him to make sure he’ll tend the tree then Phillip will be happy. If Phillip is happy then Mar will be happy, and all my problems will be cut in half.” That’s far too true. Aid once said something about Mar being an emotional bomb that might go off at any moment. Dick’s begun to see how true that is. Not only that. Mar creates trauma for himself where there is none. He’s been obsessing over the ruined Anna-doll as if they’d actually killed his daughter. It messes him up. Same thing with the sharding of Arvid. Arvid’s fine now, but after Mar got the full explanation of what happened to Arvid, that too has been an issue. Not to mention how badly he’s taken hearing what his worship of the One had done to Dick. Dick’s handling things much better now. The sight of the Star doesn’t trigger things the same way it used to. There’s a lot of deliberate work on his behalf to fix it, and several long, open talks with both Marcel and Arvid behind his progress. 

Arvid also said something that gave Dick an idea of how to handle the servants. He said that a god is the sum of its worshippers’ actions at any given moment, since it’s the main form of power a god wields, but that a person is also the sum of their actions. That made Dick gather the servants to have an openhearted talk to explain why they weren’t allowed to display the Star, and why he wanted them to try to not mention the One around him. Using Arvid’s words, he explained why so many of the mercs considered the One to be evil, yet still treated the servants as the good people they are. While Dick’s play had been fairly open-hearted it was also very deliberately manipulative and worked like a charm. Some of the servants had stopped praying altogether and had removed the One’s symbol even from their rooms where they were allowed to display them. Marcel had been outright gleeful seeing the intended step of conversion for what it was.

Marcel sniggers. “You still think we’re so different? Like me, you see sniping as a fully acceptable solution while most people consider it a rude, outdated practice.”

“It’s practical. I’ve been hoping to ensnare Naomi through sniping, but she’s proving very resistant to my boys’ attempts at seduction.”

Marcel snorts. “It’s because she’s a very good Conservative O, steepled in the ideals of her upbringing. You might be able to make her lose faith in her god, but if you want to change her ideals, you need to bond her into your pack first. Think about it. You’re actively trying to trade your ideals for those of a Packrunner and you’ve been struggling. She’s actively trying to hold on to hers.”

“So how do I get to her?”

“Like you get to any Conservative. Where their rules and ideals are fuzzy. You want to snipe an Alpha you use Alphas, you want an O, you use other Os. Sex with someone of the opposite gender that isn’t your mate is forbidden, but with someone of the same sex it’s only taboo, or, better yet, not at all talked about. If it hasn’t been talked about during her upbringing, she doesn’t have firm rules about it. Come to think about it, with enough cunning, sex isn’t necessary. She knows very little about bonding, so you could get to her the same way you got to Tony.”

“Now see, this is why I keep you around, dear,” Dick smirks.

“I know. Now, you don’t actually want to sleep in here when your mates are at home. So it’s time for you to get lost and let me work in peace,” Marcel says with a head-jerk towards the door.

Dick gets on all fours, leans over to give him an affectionate temple rub, then gets off the bed. “Thank you, dear. See you tomorrow.” Marcel makes a dismissive hand wave but adds a wink to take the edge off. Dick leaves him with a chuckle and goes to find one of his mates not currently occupied.

He runs into Jane by the balustrade overlooking the grand entrance and the stairs. "Jane? What are you doing here? I thought you were with Jed?”

Jane smells excited and gives him the most radiant smile he’s ever seen on her. “I was. But Darnell gets off his watch about now and we’re going to for a stroll together.”

Dick frowns. “Darnell… is he a merc?”

“Mhm. He belongs to Kelisha’s Raiders.”

“You left your mate to go for a walk with another Alpha?”

Jane smiles warmly and tilts her head. “Richard, I love Jed. We’ve been good friends for decades, but we don’t have what you and he have. I wouldn’t go so far as to call it a mateship of convenience, but we don’t give each other butterflies and jitters like you two do. Darnell on the other hand… It has been a long time since I felt like this about anyone.”

That’s bothersome. Dick’s not happy to hear that. He’d hoped Jane could keep Jed happily distracted. “Very well. I won’t hold up your time then. Go. Have fun.” He smiles and gestures with his head for her to be on her way. Once she’s out of sight he follows her trail back from where she came to find Jed. He’s alone in one of the salons, currently putting a record on the gramophone.

“Hello, dear. I heard Jane abandoned you to go romance a merc.”

Jed turns around with a content smile as the music starts playing. “She did. Isn’t it wonderful to see her fall in love?”

Packrunners are strange. Jed’s lost two mates to the Union war in Canada, yet he isn’t clinging to the ones who are left. “Naturally, dear,” Dick lies. “Although, I suppose this means Kelisha’s the next Commander in line to seek me out to tell me their price remains the same even if we recruit members from her troops.”

Jed chuckles, deep and slightly mean. “You did a good thing, hiring the mercs. Our numbers are growing and I never would have considered having them stationed here to recruit them.” Jed hadn’t been ecstatic about hiring mercenaries, but after hearing what had happened both with the ambush and the Hales, he’d refrained from protesting. And considering how many members had died in Canada, the accidental pack bonds that kept happening because Dick had ordered his pack to “make it personal” are a blessing that Dick hadn’t even thought of. Mercenaries are the same type of people as the Williamses. They’re career soldiers with common experiences and humor. Most of them are packless Packrunners, all of them Primals. So when friendships and, as Mar would call it, ‘poking’, started happening, so did the accidental pack bonds. The commanders didn’t take offense the way actual packs would, but they could have demands like their soldiers remaining under their command for the duration of their contract with the Williamses.

“I didn’t hire them to recruit them, dear,” Dick says and walks up to Jed. “But if it makes your heart happy to swipe them all, be my guest,” he jokes.

Jed smirks and holds out his hand, bowing in an invitation to dance while holding Dick’s gaze. “I’ll admit, having all these fiercely competent people on our land makes me feel greedy in a way it didn’t at the front.”

Dick takes his hand and lets himself be pulled close. Jed prefers Conservative dancing. One arm around each other, holding hands with the other arm while steering his partner. It’s far from a common way of dancing even amongst Conservatives, but dominates in his wage bracket. Dick prefers anything fast-paced and athletic that makes you feel like you’ve run ten laps around the army obstacle course when you’re done, and he doesn’t give a crap who, if anyone, leads the dance. It doesn’t matter. He loves to dance, period. “That’s hardly surprising since they were trying to kill you over there,” he answers with a smirk of his own.

Jed sniggers. “Not quite what I meant, but point taken.”

Dick looks up into Jed’s smiling red eyes and feels his belly flutter. He’s in love with all his mates. All of them give him butterflies, jitters, and a sense of contentment one-on-one. So why can’t he just enjoy and be happy? “What’s the secret to having several mates?” he asks, swaying along with the music as Jed leads them in slow circles around the room. “How do you make time for it and handling the leadership of the pack at the same time?”

Jed’s smirk grows to a wolfish grin. “For starters, when you have breakfast with all of them, don’t suddenly stand up, order them to talk amongst themselves, and sweep out of the room,” he answers with amusement.

“Oh dear.” Dick hides his face against Jed’s chest. “I’m sorry, love. I hope I didn’t hurt any of you.”

Jed puts his lips against Dick’s head and chuckles. “Mar did look a bit forlorn, and Laurent worried about you. Sean and I, on the other hand, couldn’t stop laughing.”

Dick turns his head to press his ear against Jed’s chest to hear the steady beat of his heart and frowns. “Mar can keep away until Lucifer’s born for all I care. He’s only around to coo at my belly anyway. Lu is a little attention-seeker and Mar’s far too happy to oblige,” he complains. “I’m lucky Mal’s starting to show or I might have ended up stabbing the bastard.” The annoyance is soothed by the low rumble of Jed’s chuckle. “I miss Mar,” Dick admits. “I wish he’d pay more attention to me when he’s with me, instead of regarding me like I’m some kind of kitling-pupae.”

Jed huffs in amusement. “Have you told him how he makes you feel?”

Dick scoffs. “It feels like every other sentence I say while talking to him is, ‘Eyes up here’. So, yes. Often. Politely. Nicely. Angrily. He’ll oblige for a little bit before his attention’s back on my belly.”

“I know you’re exaggerating. I’ve seen you two together and most of the time you’re focused on each other. But I’ll have a talk with him. See if I can get him to understand how you experience it and the possible consequences if he doesn’t stop.”

Dick looks up with a concerned frown. “What consequences?”

Jed’s shows teethed canines in a shark-like grin. “Why, wanderlust, of course.”

“Oh, that won’t happen, dear. I love him too much. I love all of you too much for something like that to happen.”

Jed takes them in a quicker circle following the music, then dips Dick low and a long note. “I’m certain you’ll assure him of that when he worries, but he’d do well to consider what could happen when you ignore what your mate is trying to tell you.”

“Are you thinking about Karen?”

Jed pulls them up again, resuming the dance. “Karen and I had been growing apart for about two decades, but yes. I am,” he answers, looking and smelling utterly content despite the heartbreak he’d experienced. “Even the strongest love can fizzle if mistreated. Which leads back to your question, how to manage several mates. Honestly? For us, it’s hard. Leadership, especially in trying times, requires a lot of energy and focus. Even having one mate can be trying. So, in my experience… enjoy all the moments offered unexpectedly. Be open and honest about your feelings. Listen when one of us says ‘I need you’ and try to make time now and then for us. Date nights, if you will. But don’t try to force it. If it starts feeling like a stressful duty, go back to the open and honest part of my advice.” He kisses Dick on the forehead and lets his lips remain there as he talks. “You’re in luck. All your mates have a good grasp of the demands leadership puts on us. It’s far more difficult being mated to someone who’s always lived a peaceful life as a domestic.” 

“I feel like when I take time for one of you, I’m neglecting the others. But when I’m with several of you at once lately, I’ve gotten stressed. I keep thinking that I need to divide my attention equally, and when I fail I get angry and withdraw. But when I sleep, I want as many of you around as possible, or, sometimes, none of you.”

Jed dances past an armchair and with sudden motion tips the two of them back over the armrest to land in a heap on the armchair. Dick yelps in surprise then bursts out laughing. Jed manhandles him to lie folded against his chest, chuckling, purring, smelling happy and content. “Have this talk with all of us, darling. It will resolve itself. As far as I’m concerned… I successfully managed to have a long-distance relationship for a very long time. It didn’t fall apart until I told Karen that I needed her, and she chose not to come home for me. You will know when I make a serious request for your attention. I’m not expecting anyone to be a mind reader,” he says and caresses Dick over the hair.

Dick adjusts himself to be curled up a bit more comfortably, resting his head on Jed’s shoulder. Jed holds him in place with one arm around his back and the other along the back of his thigh and ass. “I want to spend time building other relationships too, but when I do, I feel bad for neglecting you.”

“With who do you want to spend time?” Jed asks, soft and content.

“Arvid. Mal. Aiden. Marcel. ...Jason too, I suppose.”

“You’ve said you want Arvid to be a co-mate, and from what I can tell, Mar is working hard to make that a reality, so it’s a significant relationship to focus on,” Jed comforts.

Dick’s instantly ticked off. “ _Not hard enough_ ,” he snipes, then gnashes his teeth in frustration at the sudden anger. He tempers it down. “Sorry, love, I just…”

Jed chuckles. “Karen used to get mood swings too when she was pregnant, although she was more prone to crying than murder. It’s okay. Mar and Arvid will get there. Trust me. Give them time to let love blossom naturally. They’re in the process of redefining their relationship. Arvid, for as little as he’s been present in Mar’s life, has had the role of mentor, friend, and, though I loathe to say it, parent. It takes a while to transition one form of love to another. Just look at you and Aid. And you’re only shifting between friendship to sweethearts.”

Dick scoffs and nuzzles Jed to soothe himself. “It’s hardly the same, dear. I’ve been infatuated with Aiden since the first whiff, and in love with him for nearly as long."

Jed purrs. "It warms my heart something fierce to see you two together. The love you have for each other is tangible. Even if you fight a lot.”

Dick frowns in confusion. “We never fight these days. We used to, but never since we became lovers.”

Jed sniggers, eyes crinkling with warm amusement. “Athena. If that’s your take, then I fear to imagine your relationship before.”

Dick gives him a flat stare. Sure, Aid and he had disagreements now and then. But they weren’t fighting. “Speaking of fighting, if you haven’t got the Hales in line by noon tomorrow, I’ll sweep in and show you how it’s done. It might be humiliating for you. So I’m prepared to take that fight. But you’d better keep your protests to when we’re alone or I will obliterate you. Is that clear?”

Jed tips his head back and laughs. When he rights his head, he grins at Dick, fangs entirely dropped, and eyes glowing stark red. He smells aroused. He’s very like Mar in that regard. Challenge him and he’ll get excited. It doesn’t necessarily mean he’s got any plans to act on it. “Looking forward to seeing how you plan to do that, darling.”

Dick thinks Jed won’t like it one bit, which is why he’s only giving a heads up about what’s about to happen, not _how_.

“I’ve wanted to ask you about Big Jay,” Jed says then, changing the topic.

“What about him?”

“You’ve said he’s saved your life and that you’re friends. You asked us to court him. But sometimes I pick up discordance between you. Like you regard each other with suspicion. Correct me if I’m wrong. I could be. At lunch, for instance, you looked very affectionate and relaxed with each other, so if I’m misreading the signs…” Jed raises an eyebrow imploringly.

“Yes, that was strange…,” Dick muses. “I was staring at a group of mercenaries sitting with the pack and everyone got along like they’d been best friends forever. But when I made a remark to Jay how strange Packrunners were for so easily making friends with their enemies, he laughed and gave me a temple rub. I don’t get―” He cuts himself off. At the time, he hadn’t understood why Jason found the statement so hilarious or endearing, but now it’s clear as day. 

“ _Uh-huh_ ,” Jed says with a lopsided smirk, following along without a problem. “So you and Jay used to be enemies,” he states.

“Not… quite. Not on a personal level. More like the Hales and I were enemies. I was a small fry in a pond filled with bigger fish. He was a bigger fish. Please, don’t dig into it. I’ll tell you some other time.”

“Okay, darling. I trust you. Now…” Jed doesn’t finish the sentence with words. He ends it with his hands and mouth, then a few moments later, with his knot. Dick has a brief moment of wondering if he’ll be as eager after what Dick’s planning tomorrow but lets himself be distracted.

* * *


	30. First We Take Manhattan...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick takes the reins. He learned leadership in the army and is starting to realize how much power he actually has. Holding the ultimate veto right, his decision causes his first fight with Jed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, a huge thank you to my Betas, Lisa and Melina. <3 Without you two, the quality of my writing would be a lot worse. I appreciate you two!
> 
> So.  
> A life-update. My stepdad is hospitalized with pneumonia (The COVID test was negative, so that's something, I guess.) which is pretty scary since the chemo has shot his immune system to smithereens and he isn't getting better. I've started taking Finnish lessons on Duolingo, because, why not, right? Am I planning on ever speaking Finnish? Can't say that I do, but whatever.  
> Have I told you I've gotten a Wacom Cintiq for my birthday? Well, I did. And it's brought back the urge to draw again. I've started a series of portraits of The Sanctuary gang as young adults or Juvies. I haven't been using references since I wanted to find the flow and joy in making art again and don't want the pressure of perfection. Some of the characters I wasn't quite happy with and will be drawing again until I feel I get it right, but I had tons of fun making different hairdos on Marlon. ^^ Bless his punk-ass youthful self.  
> If you'd like to see my forays back into art wonderland, the pictures can be found at <https://coplins-packrunners.tumblr.com/>.   
> That's all for now. Thank you for reading and commenting! <3<3<3

* * *

"Yes, but…"

Dick hears the argument come to a halt as he comes striding with his entourage of mercenary commanders, Marcel, Jason, and Aiden. They don't know what he's planning and the only reason he brought Jason along is to demonstrate the power of the pack.

His entourage files in after him, dividing to stand along the walls of the room while Dick continues to the head of the table in front of the blackboard and map, making Jed scoot to the side with a small wave of his hand. The Hale Main and Patriarch sit on one side of the table, Sean and Sandra at the other. Dick doesn't bother with a chair. "That's enough. Every 'yes, but' costs us valuable time," he says when he comes to a stop. "I care deeply for the Hales which is why I allowed this charade, to give you the opportunity to pretend you have a choice. You don't. Tonight at 8 PM you'll deploy a minimum of six hundred messengers to the front to call all Packrunners home," he orders the Hales. He sees the Main is about to protest and holds up his hand. "Nu-uh. The moment they criminalized Packrunning they declared war on us and we reverted to Packrunning law. You know that law. You've been ruling your territory according to it. Yet you sit here and expect us not to? So here's how it is. You send the messengers tonight. We'll help you with boats and trucks for the first leg of their journey, and while they're away we'll protect those you leave behind."

"You can send your mercenaries," the Main says.

Dick takes a deep breath, not bothering to clip his scent to hide his anger. " _Or_ , you could challenge us. Start a pack war. You'd be challenging the dominant pack of the territory," he turns around and grabs the pointer lying on the lower edge of the blackboard behind him and uses it to point in a vague circle around the wider Williams territory on the map hanging beside the blackboard. "This territory. And, should you win, you'd be responsible for the whole territory at a moment when we enter a civil war against the established government. Congratulations. You're off to a flying start, seeing as your first order of business was to send our military presence off to _fucking Canada!_ Oh, and, should you challenge us, make note that I'm still paying for said mercenaries and if you go against us I can only assume you're siding with the government I hired them to overthrow. You can see where this is going. Now, I'm not unreasonable. I'm ordering you to deploy a minimum of six hundred Packrunning messengers, but I didn't specify they have to be Hales. You're welcome to delegate to the other packs living on your territory. Oh, wait. I forgot. They too _are in fucking Canada!_ So. If you don't send the messengers by 8, you're no longer cleared to live on our territory and our soldiers will escort you to the border," he taps the map at the edge of their greater territory, "with the orders to remove you with as many of you alive as possible without risking their own lives."

"That won't be necessary, Dicky. We'll send the messengers. But you did send two other companies away," the Hale Patriarch points out.

"I did, yes. The Teyshyas have rallied the packs in Texas and requested help to get rid of the Union and overthrow their government. When they're done they'll send an envoy here to work with us since this is a _nationwide_ war. Plus, they're paying for those troops out of their own pockets."

The Hale Main shares a brief look with her Patriarch, eyes worried and smelling of low key anxiety. She moves to get up. "Alright. I guess we'll go get the pack ready to head back to the front."

"Not quite yet. I'd like to have one or two high-ranking Hales stationed here for collaboration. While the messengers are away, we're about to overthrow our government and take control of the city. My intention isn't to declare war on the Conservative designation, but solely on those who seek to destroy us and our culture. So my plan is to convert the loyalty of as many New Yorkers as possible. When we take over the government, the city needs to see instant gratification in the form of housing, food, jobs, education, the works. I don't need perfection, but I need a quick increase in the quality of life for as many people as possible from the bottom and up. I need us to focus on all the people the government trampled to stay powerful. We'll cut away some of their rights in return for comfort. I think your pack is in a unique position to see where our efforts are needed the most. We'll be seizing the holdings of several very rich Conservatives to pay for it." Dick sees Jed’s eyebrows twitch into a small frown before they return to their neutral state.

“What are you planning to do with the politicians?” the Hale Main asks.

“Hang them in Central Park,” Dick answers. “Perelli and Jacobs will be executed without a trial. Then we’ll go through City Hall’s voting records to see how everyone voted on the recent law changes. If we find proof of anyone voting against most of the new laws, we’ll review any law they voted for, and if they had our best interest at heart, they’ll be spared. If they voted for the laws damaging to us and the people under our protection, they’ll be executed publicly in Central Park, just like Perelli and Jacobs.” If Dick hadn’t been watching for it, he might have missed Jed’s slight wince. But he _was_ watching for it. This is part of the reason he’s been anticipating a fight with the Patriarch. “Anyone we execute for the crime of treason against the people will have their properties and other assets seized and used to fund the instant gratification measures.”

“Their families?” The Hale Main asks. She’s started to smell excited.

Here comes the real kicker. If Jed or anyone else from his pack is going to argue in public, this is the answer that will do the trick. “Guilty by association and executed as well.” Dick gives the Hales a pleasant smile. “Though I would see it as poetic justice if you were to adopt any and all of their kits.”

“Yes,” the Patriarch answers without any hesitation, his Main nodding along. “They came for ours, we’ll take theirs.”

Dick nods sharply. “Then that’s settled.” Judging by Jed’s look, nothing’s settled, but as promised, Jed doesn’t say anything.

* * *

Jed roars and hurls a lamp at the corner of the room. Dick notes that Jed and Mar might be more alike than he ever thought. It’s a hopeful thought. It means Mar might settle down to become a calm and composed man as he ages. Not that Jed looks very composed now that they're finally in private, red eyes glowing so strongly you can barely see the pupils, fangs long enough to push at his lower lip.

"What the hell are you thinking?! 'Guilty by association'?! Murdering the families?! Stealing the heritage from the kits? Did you ever consider asking me for my opinion?!" Jed shouts, fisting his hands at his sides. Facing him, Dick moves around him in a wide circle to get the door at his back. Dick’s never seen him this angry and therefore doesn’t know if there’s a risk he’ll lash out uncontrollably. If he really is like his grandson, the risk of getting hurt is minimal unless you happen to be a lamp or desk, but since he’s the best fighter in the pack, Dick’s not taking any chances, putting the easy escape within his reach. Marcel says Jed’s the best fighter only if you’re talking about fighting multiple enemies at the same time. He says that one-on-one there’s another pack member that surpasses Jed for skill. He hasn’t told Dick who that is, only agreed to confirm if Dick guesses it right. It’s not Aiden or Sean, and Marcel will get amused and gleeful anytime Dick guesses wrong, so Dick’s stopped guessing.

“Naturally, I considered asking you. But I knew your answer and I knew I’d veto it, so I skipped out on the additional fights,” Dick answers. Jed’s face turns a shade nearer purple. “As for stealing the kits’ heritage? That must be the most privileged, _Conservative_ bullshit I’ve ever heard anyone say. The kits have no right to keep what their parents stole. The kits are about to become Hales anyway. They won’t be suffering. So you can stuff your over-privileged, greed-riddled angst.”

Jed grabs a marble paperweight from the desk and hurls it at the wall behind him, once again away from Dick, Dick notes with relief. It chips a huge chunk of plaster, exposing the stone wall underneath. He turns to glare at Dick. “Marlon told us the Aristocrats have spent decades propagandizing against us to make the public think we’re simple-minded brutes that only know to communicate through violence. If you execute the mates you’ll prove it, making the public fear us! Conservative Os don’t hold any power and shouldn’t be judged for their Alphas’ crimes!”

Dick has to clip his scent on and off rapidly to hide the rage inside of him. “Is that so? In that case, maybe I should call Naomi in here so you can tell her that once she chooses her lifelong mate, she’ll be nothing but a servant to him with no ability to influence him and have no say in anything that happens in her life, since she’s an O and all, and being a Conservative means she’s no longer a person with the ability to have a loving, equal relationship with an Alpha.”

Jed growls and averts his gaze, showing his fangs to the wall. No Alpha in the Williams pack wants to clash with Naomi’s barbed submissiveness or get a disappointed look from her.

“I was raised by pious Conservatives, dear. I know that in private, the Os absolutely have power and a say in their mates’ doings. If they choose not to care, then that too is a support of their mates’ cause,” Dick says. 

Jed shakes his head. “You want people to fear us, playing into the Aristocratic agenda.”

“Oh, I definitely want people to fear us, but that’s not truly the Aristocratic agenda, now is it, dearheart?” Dick scoffs at Jed’s deep scowl. “Oh, don’t give me that look. They want us to be despised and disrespected. They don’t truly want people to fear us. They want people to fear us like they fear a small, harmless spider scuttling across the floor. They want us to be something people think of in terms of ‘Ew, get rid of it’, and then stomp on. If people truly feared us, people would’ve run away when I pelted, not ganged up on me. Are you done throwing your tantrum? If you are, I can explain my thinking to you. But I need you to be rational, and not throw your temperamental Alpha hormones all over the place like a bored baboon in captivity, throwing feces at the people come to gawk at it.” Dick’s never seen a baboon in reality. But he read an article about one, years ago, who’d been throwing feces at visitors at the zoo. Zoologists had said it was because it was bored, and argued that animals kept in captivity needed big spaces and mental stimuli to keep happy and healthy. They’re still lobbying for laws regulating how animals may be kept. In this case, they’d been unsuccessful, and the baboon had been put down and replaced with another one forced to live in a dull concrete square with bars. Dick remembers feeling kinship with the baboons due to his own brief stint in captivity, and in this very moment, Dick realizes he’s in a position of power where he can do something about it. It will have to wait, but he puts it on his mental to-do list.

Jed rubs his hands over his face, taking several deep breaths, then abruptly goes to a corner cabinet to take out a brush and shovel. He takes his cleaning gear, goes to the corner where he’d thrown the lamp, and starts sweeping up the mess, cleaning aggressively. “Alright, I’m listening,” he says while focusing on his task.

“I’ve lived under pack laws all my life. My inner city-map is divided into pack territories. There’s a border where the territories disappear and the police take over the rule. Pack’s still live in those areas but they no longer dictate the law. People like me aren’t welcome there. Now, in my part of the city, you kept track of the laws imposed by the dominant packs like the Hales, Boltons, Swifts, and Jayhawks. If you’re on their territory with their outspoken approval, you’re safe. If not, you better learn their M.O. to be able to avoid them. And if you get caught breaking their laws the punishment might be brutal. I _feared_ the packs, and I longed to be approved by any of them so I could get some peace and quiet. I’ve lived under pack laws all my life, but you know what the kicker is? You haven’t.”

Jed stands up from his crouch and turns around sharply to look at him as if Dick just accused him of murdering a kitling.

Dick holds up his hands placatingly. “No, no, dearheart, hear me out before you protest. Here, at home, you’ve lived under pack law, of course. But the Williams pack went into the business world and adapted to it. The Conservatives dominate the large businesses you deal with. You're used to making mental exceptions for them. It doesn't help that Packrunners in general are tolerant, and celebrate diversity. Since you're steepled in both the corporate world and in privilege, you're disconnected from a society where pack laws truly rule."

Jed glares at him for a few seconds before his gaze shifts to the side and down in thought. He crouches down and resumes his cleaning efforts, though his posture shows his focus is on Dick despite having his back turned.

"So," Dick goes on. "They instated a law that declares that a pack should be judged as one unit. To them, it must have looked like they were being tricky, figuring out how they could get to all of us with a single law. However, they didn't think it through when they codified the first rule of Packrunning into law. By doing so, they shifted the system of the law from the mixed-rule system where everyone is supposedly equal under law, back to the original pack law system."

Jed throws a questioning look over his shoulder.

“We are one, and there’s no point for us to adapt to their standards if they’ve criminalized us en masse. But we still need order, hence we shift back to pack laws,” Dick says, thinking he should receive a medal for his ability to spout bullshit. The whole ‘we are one’ first rule of Packrunning doesn’t make sense to him on a broader scale, but it does to Packrunners so he’ll say what he needs to say to get his stubborn Patriarch and mate to heel. “And that’s the beauty of it, since it reverts us back to our original purpose, to govern everyone who lives in our territory. You know what that makes the politicians and Aristocrats that seek to destroy us and prey upon the weak on our territory? Unwelcome intruders. Better yet. You’ve been subjected to as many of Mar’s impromptu history lessons about the Conservative faith as I have. You know its origin and how much it’s changed on a surface level. It’s not of consequence that most Conservatives don’t know it. What’s of interest to us is that every Conservative family unit is a small pack. You’ve said it yourself, the smallest pack consists of one individual.” As confusing as Dick finds it. A person could be a pack by herself, but she isn’t automatically one. “Marcel is a lone Patriarch. Coombs is a lone Patriarch. You can bet your pretty head that every politician’s mate is a Main. As such…” Dick makes a sweeping gesture, inviting Jed to make his own assumptions since it makes so little sense to Dick he prefers Packrunners put their own words to it.

Jed plays along beautifully, standing up to carry the shovel and the pieces of the broken lamp to the wastebasket. “...we’re targeting invasive packs to protect our greater territory. Okay, I understand your reasoning now,” he says and throws the trash in the basket. “But I still don’t like that we’re going after the families,” he says and sits down behind the desk, looking at Dick. “The thing about pack wars, kitty, is that every pack knows the stakes. When they intrude on another pack’s territory or business they know the risks. Conservative Os, especially in the upper-crust, aren’t raised to be prepared for war. We don’t touch them because―”

“You consider them weak,” Dick interrupts. “Yes. I’ve noticed. You consider me weak?”

“Of course not.”

“No? Because Arnwald Rumsfeldt considered me prime mating material the moment I put him in his place and continued to chastise Aiden harshly and publicly. I dare to say he gets those ideals from home. Again, look at Naomi. She’s the perfect Conservative O, good at upholding an air of submissiveness, but unbending as steel when she needs to be. Like when Arvid needed help getting washed and Marcel offered to do it. Light forbid an Alpha sees a poor unmated O naked.”

Jed huffs in amusement and leans back in the chair, lacing his fingers over his belly. “When was that?”

“When we got here. Conservative Os aren’t raised the way they are to lack a will of their own, they’re raised that way to bond with a single Alpha and remain fiercely loyal to him no matter what. That’s what these Os are - fiercely loyal to their mates. But.” Dick walks up to the desk and sits down sideways on it to face Jed. “I have a suggestion of how to deal with them if you don’t want them blindly executed for the crimes of their mates. Offer them to take a pack bond. Not to our pack. Donarrion forbid. But when the other packs come back from Canada, we’ll ask which ones are ready to convert prisoners for us. You sniped me against my will and today every cell of my body bleeds in need to protect and serve this pack. Theirs will too. I’ve been told sniping is an outdated practice, but luckily for us, the Boltons specialized in bond warfare and we’ve got Marcel on our side. Never have I met a man so greedy to impart his knowledge on willing minds. Any pack who doesn’t know how to go about doing it can pick his brain. And the Conservative Os can choose between hanging alongside their mates or accept a captivity sentence of, let’s say 5 years, living with a pack and taking their bond. Their only option to escape death is to accept the bond.”

Jed purses his lips for a beat, then he nods. “If they choose to hang, they’ll hang. Okay. Convince me why we need to be feared. I don’t see anything good coming out of making a public spectacle out of murder. But I admit I was too angry to listen when we came in here.”

Dick rolls his eyes. “The Hales are feared but nobody would think to attack a Hale out in the open for fear of the consequences. The propaganda against our kind paints us as scorn-worthy but we’re known for our general tolerance, so people who don’t live under Packrunner law, meaning the middle and upper class, have forgotten that pissing Packrunners off comes with consequences. We’re about to change that. Though I don’t want fear to be the only motivation for refraining to turn against us, hence the need for instant gratification for the greater part of the population, the ones those at the top have been preying on. The upper-middle-class and the aristocrats we don’t care about unless they’re willing to submit to us. But we want the support of the middle-class and below.”

Jed looks at him thoughtfully for several seconds before letting out a deep sigh and holding out his arms, gesturing ‘come here’ with his fingers. Dick leans towards him over the desk and Jed grabs him to resolutely pull him to onto his lap. An inkstand falls to the floor. Dick dives to catch it but Jed stops him and tucks him against his chest. “Leave it. I’ll clean it up later,” Jed says and presses his lips to Dick’s temple. Dick’s fairly certain the ink will stain no matter how well Jed tries to clean, and Naomi will give him a stern talking to, but he doesn’t mention it. “I apologize for thinking you’re too young to lead. I sometimes forget you never got to be a kit. I’m simply not used to the harsh direction of your leadership.”

“In all fairness, the leadership of you and your predecessors is what created the situation, dear,” Dick counters. Jed growls and pulls his lips up so Dick can feel fangs pressed against his skin. Dick chuckles, anticipation stirring in his belly. “Oh dear, does that mean I won’t be able to walk properly tomorrow?” he purrs.

“It’s like you’re reading my mind,” Jed answers half-growling, but Dick can feel his smile.

“Oh, no, dear, you’re just predictable,” Dick jokes.

Jed laughs out loud, then rises, dumping Dick over the desk. Many more objects end up broken on the floor, but true to his word, Jed cleans it up when they’re done, then sets out to repair the wall-plaster he broke.

* * *

They’re gathered around a long conference table. The Williams estate has several rooms to accommodate different types of meetings. This one can’t hold the whole pack, but there’s enough space for 25 people to sit comfortably. Dick’s sitting at the head of the table. Three maps of the city lie on the long table so everyone can have a good view, and most of those gathered have writing pads and pens to take notes. Aside from the Williamses―Jed, Sean, Sandra, Jane, Aiden, and Marlon―Dick’s gathered the two high-ranking Hales, Marcel, Jason, Arvid, Commander Chaadayev, and a few other mercenary commanders.

"So. As most of you know by now, we’re about to take power over the city by military means. However, my plan also dictates that we make life instantly better for the people we’re about to conquer. We need to create jobs, get rid of homelessness and starvation, things like that. I want it done fast. It doesn’t need to be perfect, only noticeable. Preferably, we want it to cost as little money as possible. Any suggestions on how to do that?"

Jason hesitantly puts his hand up and Dick motions for him to speak. "Uh… workhouses? War needs a lot of things to be made, right? So maybe you can open factories for labor lacking any training? And make the workhouses voluntary. Instead of paying money for the labor, you could say a free meal and maybe one hour of reading lessons in exchange for four hours of work. Maybe some will only come for the first shift to get lunch, but some will come for both shifts to get lunch and dinner."

"Nobody's going to work for a free meal," Jane says. She’s a sweetheart but she’s been living on the estate far too long and doesn’t truly grasp life as it’s in the city right now.

"I would've," Dick and Jason say as one. "If the food served was good and nutritional and plentiful enough to make me full, I would have worked eight hours straight without batting an eyelash," Dick adds. "I might literally have killed to ensure I got in every day if I knew I'd be rewarded with both food and education."

"Make sale to workers," Aleksandr says. "Not just have them work. Tell them how they help. If they make boot, tell them who they make boot for. Soldier freeing the country, ending oppression and they help. Give pride back," he says and taps his heart with a fist.

"But how would we get people to come? Most can't read so putting up fliers is a bust," Sean asks.

"Oh, that's no problem. We're already in control of the most trusted news sources in the city," Dick says.

"Which is?" Marlon asks.

"The tidings kits, and, as it turns out, the Pyrefolk. We have Jay to thank for that or I never would have thought of it. So. Housing. The first wave will be fairly easy with our currently depleted population. Get rid of the homeless by housing them. This will require some ongoing work since refugees are still arriving. We need to make an inventory of empty buildings and apartments in the city. I know for a fact that there are several apartment buildings that stand empty in wait for a buyer of the plot. It's one of those things I resented, living on the street. No matter who owns them, I want them occupied at least temporarily. Simple barracks can be built outside the city. We'll be needing farmers and lumberjacks and lots of professions I know nothing about. If their work can be done outside of the city, it'll come with a customary living space so we get them off the street. Abandoned factories. If they're not needed for production, they'll be converted to living space. I'm sure we can sort everything out. Oh, and the police. Far too long they've been corrupt, pocketing extra cash wherever they can. That no longer works for me. Everyone needs to feel safe in every part of the city. I'll need some kind of security force everywhere. It doesn't have to be police. It can be local packs. They'll uphold the basic laws until we've established new ones. But things like robberies, thefts, and burglaries need to be punished and controlled. Murder will have to be investigated to determine if a death occurred by an honest rank challenge or out of malice. We…"

The meeting goes on forever. After he's listed his wants they start planning. It was a stroke of genius to involve the mercenary commanders. They, and Sean, are very competent when it comes to planning how to house and provide for a large number of people, at least temporarily. By the end of the day, they've got a plan. The day after they plan the takeover of the government. By the end of the week, they've done the recon needed to strike.

There are things Dick didn't know. For example, most of the highest commanders at West Point are Packrunners, so when the sitting government of NY tries to get the military to come help because the Williams pack is staging a military coup, reinforcements are sent, but to aid Major Sean Williams. “We’re lucky they were ignorant enough to contact West Point, not Limeshaw,” Marcel notes. “If they had, we’d probably have the whole damn army on us now.”

The politicians that were mentioned by the American mercs are executed by hanging in Central Park, their crimes publicly announced. The rest are imprisoned pending investigation. A meeting is called with the Pyrefolk to explain to them what's happening and why, later also with the tidings kits. At the same time, the plans for housing and feeding people are put into motion. They seize control of the banks, and seize the properties and liquid assets of the politicians they executed as a 'fine for stealing from the taxpayers'. The assets that brings in pay for quickly conjured jobs like sanitation and construction to clean up and repair the city. On Marlon's insistence, they seize control of the newspapers and track down any journalist and publisher who was shut down for criticizing the government. 

When they go through the records at City Hall they discover that out of all NY politicians only four have consecutively voted against the changing laws. They interview them and find out three of them are Progs, one a Conservative. While they don’t necessarily agree with Dick’s personal mission statement, he still offers them the opportunity to share their opinions and suggestions, to offer the viewpoint of the communities they represent. He makes it clear that he isn’t running a democracy; if they prove troublesome, they’ll be cut from his council.

The rest of the politicians are to be executed in Central Park alongside any of their mates who don’t choose imprisonment in wait for a pack bond. Dick spends the whole night before the executions cooped up in City Hall, going through law books with two former lawyers turned mercs, and Marcel, to write the charges that are going to be read out loud to the crowd witnessing the executions. Although treason is the main charge, he’s making a list of corruption charges, tax evasion, and other crimes they’ve committed over the decades while believing they were above the law. He wants the people in the crowd to feel like they’re the ones being avenged, especially since they’re publicly announcing a return to pack law at the same time, taking back the governance of their territory. One of the mercs, a Frenchman, is giddy. “This is what it must have felt like to be alive during the French revolution,” he says. Apparently, something similar to this has happened in France more than 100 years prior - packs rising up to unseat a corrupt aristocratic rule. Although there were no dominant pack in the area at the time, and, in the aftermath, packs squabbled for power. Dick’s more worried about the immediate reaction of the people in New York.

Thankfully, there are no incidents of instant rebellion on the day of execution.

* * *

“So… regarding the workhouses…” Jason says hesitantly as they walk down the corridor towards Jay’s room.

“Did it pass me by that you described the sort of slavery Jared was put in? No. It didn’t. But voluntary is the keyword here. They can leave any time they want and don’t even have the obligation to finish their 4-hour shifts. The drawback is that they won’t earn a meal and a lesson if they leave early,” Dick says, striding into Jason’s room as if he owns it. Jay walks one step behind until he veers off for the wardrobe and Dick continues to the bar cabinet. The room has changed significantly since Jay moved in. At first, Jason had been hesitant to change anything, but once he realized he wasn’t about to be thrown out he’d gone and asked Jane if he could redecorate. She’d been with other pack members at the time and they’d all shown great enthusiasm in helping him customize his room. It had taken a while, but today his quarters look like Dick imagines Neptune’s court might look like. Gold, pearl, silks and satins in colors ranging from dark sea green to light turquoise, accentuated by seafoam white. It’s still gaudy and overly luxurious, but it’s comfortable, inviting, and has an overarching theme. Furniture divides the room into sections, preventing it from looking as empty as it had in the beginning. Dick’s a bit jealous of Jason’s bed. Not its size, but the canopy and all the pillows and blankets make it the most nest-like bed in the whole house. Dick opens the cabinet and pours two glasses of cognac from a crystal decanter, one glass half-full, and one with only a few sips. “You know we both would’ve loved places like them, growing up. I would have killed to assure my daily spot there.”

Jason huffs in amusement. “A tiny, scrawny little thing like you used to be? You wouldn’t have stood a chance.”

“Now see, dear, that’s where you’re wrong. I couldn’t fight anyone fair and square while standing in line, but I could very easily make sure they wouldn’t show up the next da―” Dick turns around to see that Jason has shed his shirts, and spots what had been hiding underneath. He grins. “Well hello there. Someone has been making friends with Mar,” he says, doing a slow once-over of Jay’s torso and arms.

Jason touches one of the elaborate golden snake armlets on his biceps. “He gave them to me. I didn’t steal them,” he says rather defensively.

“Oh, I’m sure he did. He was with me when Marcel came to get my approval on his new clothes. Mar turned downright gleeful and had him model all the sets, choosing what accessories to go with them. I had no idea he liked playing dress-up so much, but, in hindsight, I should have. Back in the days, he used to wear all these gorgeous colorful skirts, jewelry, and makeup. And, from what my friends have told me, his hairstyle changed like the season. I think now he lives out his own sense of style vicariously through anyone that will allow it,” Dick says. He raises one glass and gestures with it, taking in the bracelets, armlets, and necklace. “Looks good on you.”

“You think?”

“I do. Why do you hide them?”

Jason shrugs. “I want to look respectable. Fit in.”

Dick laughs. “Dearheart, almost everyone here are Primals and Packrunners. You could walk around naked wearing only a feather boa and a golden ring around your penis, and people would think you looked respectable and fit in,” he says with a smile. The look on Jay’s face says he hadn’t thought of that. “Would you mind keep your shirt off for my viewing pleasure? We could light the fireplace so you don’t freeze.”

“Yeah, of course,” he says, then starts to take his pants off. “I’ll just slip into a more comfortable pair of pants.”

Dick goes to the group of armchairs by the fireplace, puts down the drinks on a side table, and busies himself with lighting the fireplace while Jason changes into a pair of loose-fitting pants in a soft material. Once Dick’s got the fire burning merrily they sit down in adjacent armchairs, putting their feet on ottomans facing the fire. Dick hands over the glass he’d poured for Jason and elevates his own drink for a toast.

Jay raises his glass to salute him and then they both take a sip, contently purring at the burn of the strong liquor, even though Dick’s sip is so small the burning sensation in his mouth is minimal before it fades into the aftertaste. At least Jay won’t give him shit for having a tiny drink while pregnant, unlike most of the pack. Dick looks at Jay under hooded eyes, enjoying the sight. The elaborate jewelry he’s wearing suits him. The armlets aren’t snakes like he’d first thought. They’re some sort of sea serpents or water dragons circling his arms, the bracelets have wave-like patterns, the necklace has sea creatures on it too. Jay watches him take in the sight. “You want to be a seaman or something?” Dick asks curiously.

“What? No,” Jason huffs. “I can’t even swim. No, I just think the ocean’s beautiful, soothing, and terrifying. It has a lot of strange and beautiful creatures in it. I much prefer those creatures made from gold, though,” he jokes with a lazy wink.

Dick chuckles and turns his head to watch the flames with a small smile. Jason smells completely at ease. He’s so content it’s like getting a mental massage from his scent alone, despite Dick inviting himself in without asking.

Jay clears his throat. “So… the workhouses,” he says, breaking Dick out of his reverie.

“A success. Thank you, dear. I’m grateful you brought the idea up.”

“Thanks. But. I’ve been thinking… why don’t we take over the ones used for slavery and convert them? We free the slaves but allow them to keep working if they want. Since they don’t have to be chained up and sleep by their work stations we can cram the stations closer together to fit in more work stations. And those places already have what it takes to run them. There are kitchens and storage rooms. We could turn some of the storage rooms to bedrooms with narrow bunk beds, install decent outhouses, and what’s needed to upkeep good hygiene. Anyone who’s been a slave at the place has dibs on a spot but if they leave someone else gets their place. I have it all figured out. We could―”

“They’re still there?” Dick asks, cutting him off when he finally gets his wits about him.

Jay snorts and lifts and eyebrow dryly. “Of course. What? You think they’d go away just because we cleaned up the city and made it next to impossible for Snatchers to work? No way. There are far too many people making money off it.”

“I just assumed we got the people at the top…”

Jay shakes his head. “Some of them, sure. But we only seized their legal businesses and holdings. There’s no inventory of contraband, remember? There are no paper trails leading from those at the very top. Or, if there are, they’re very long and winding and you have to be far better at tracing money through money laundering than you and I could ever be. The establishments where the slaves are kept working are well hidden behind established, legal fronts and I saw how you cleaned up the city without even casting a suspicious glance their way. Plus, even those establishments where we did kill the owners, those one step below would keep it going as long as it’s making them money. If we take them over, they have very little chance to re-establish themselves here since we’ve gotten rid of homelessness and starvation, and have law enforcement in place that actually upholds the law everywhere. Nobody in their right mind would try to snatch in New York now.”

Dick rubs a hand over his face with a small knot growing in his belly. “Oh dear. I thought I’d thought of everything…” Dick says at his stupid oversight, then casts a sharp gaze at Jason when he chuckles and sips his drink, eyes twinkling over the brim of his glass. “Why are you still here, Jay?” Dick asks.

The amusement winks out of Jay’s eyes even if his lips keep smiling. “I wasn’t aware I’d overstayed my welcome,” he answers lightly with faint traces of anxiety in his scent.

Dick shakes his head. “You haven’t. But a few weeks ago Sean gave you a new identity, perfectly crafted for you to be accepted by any layer of the society except perhaps amongst the Progs. We might have successfully taken the power in this state, but it’s only a matter of time before everyone gets the memo of what’s going on and come home to participate in the civil war. The Conservatives are in the majority and have decades of propaganda as a head start. They might win. Your ID says you’re a Primal, so you don’t have a stigma working against you. You’re rich now, and you know things about us that they’d love to know and probably would pay you to tell them. So why are you here?”

Jason chuckles and takes another sip of his drink. By now Dick’s gotten to know Jay well enough to know that his often chipper attitude is a facade to hide pain and bitterness underneath. Unlike Arvid, who’s genuinely amused by the absurdities and misfortunes of life. “The Conservatives don’t give away gold on a whim,” Jason answers and touches his necklace. “And nobody’s said the rules have changed. If I leave unescorted, I’m not allowed back home. Phillip rarely leaves the estate so I wouldn’t be seeing much of him. Plus, I thought we were friends? I’m not sure, but it felt like it.” He chuckles again. “I guess I was mistaken,” he says and raises his glass for a toast with a lopsided smirk.

Not allowed back home… The phrasing doesn’t escape Dick. “I don’t think you are. I wasn’t asking why we want you here, I was asking because I want to know why you _choose_ to stay. Aligning yourself with us might be a death trap in the upcoming war. I made you a promise that gives you the choice to go free despite the liability you’d pose if you leave. We’ll provide the transportation of furniture, clothing, and other belongings. You’ll have money. Why are you sticking around knowing the risks involved?”

Jason keeps looking at him with that smirk. Dick can see the gears grinding in his head as the anxiety in his scent increases. He’s trying to figure out the answer that will let him stay. But Dick wants the honest answer, not the ‘right’ answer.

“I want to extend an offer to you,” Dick decides. “When it was extended to me, I said no. My answer was ignored. I won’t ignore your answer, but depending on whether it’s a yes or no, I might have to put a time limit on your stay here. Jason, do you want to become part of the Williams pack?”

The question is barely out of his mouth before Jay says, “Yes.”

Dick hums thoughtfully. “Have you ever had a pack bond before?”

“No.”

“Have you ever experienced bond compulsion of any form?”

Jay shakes his head, eyes alert, and fully focused on Dick, expression serious.

“Have you read up on what pack bonds feel like, or what they can do? Or has anyone explained pack bonds to you?”

Jason lifts a hand to scratch the side of his neck. “Not really? My mentor taught me to smell the difference between a friendship bond and a pack bond, but that’s about it.”

Dick hums again. “In that case, I’ll tell you what it’s like. For independent, freedom-loving people like us, it’s hell. The bond settles gently with a sense of relief almost, and as long as you don’t ever try to fight it, you barely notice it except feeling a constant sense of contentment you've never had before. You'll feel great affection for people you've never spoken to simply because you smell that they're part of your pack. You’ll feel more whole than you’ve ever felt in your life.”

“That doesn’t sound like hell to me?” Jay says dubiously, quirking an eyebrow in question.

“No… as long as you don’t fight the bond. Packrunners are brought up with a bond and to them, getting a new bond after lacking one, is returning to normal. They generally don’t fight it, and therefore it has no disadvantages. But you and I were stomped on by people, treated as outsiders while we grew up, so we were forced to develop a strong sense of individuality to get by. We were the only ones to tell us we are worthwhile. We hold on hard to our right to control ourselves and make our own choices, because we were the only thing we had control over. Friendship bonds are different. They’re mood boosters, but they don’t come with compulsion like pack bonds do. That compulsion can be overcome temporarily, but it requires a lot of mental effort. It’s exhausting to resist and long-term leads to depression.”

Jason tilts his head curiously. “What kind of compulsion?”

“The first one is to have your bond confirmed by both your Main and Patriarch. In a big pack like this, someone low ranking might feel a compulsion to be with other people instead, if I’ve understood it correctly. But to me, it was Jed and Jane. I resisted Jane. I didn’t find her fit to lead me and required her to prove herself to me first.”

Jason huffs an incredulous laugh and looks at Dick as if he’s gone mad. He knew there’d been tension between Dick and Jane before Dick challenged her, but apparently this was news to him.

“I’m not joking. I wouldn’t let her confirm my bond since it would also confirm her in a position of power over me. My body, however… I won't describe to you what compulsion feels like. But it will be there on an instinctive level. Not only will you feel the compulsion to confirm bonds, but you'll react without thinking to put yourself in harm's way if a pack member is threatened. That goes for people you dislike as well. You'll find yourself thinking things that don’t feel like _you_. And when you go, 'hold on, I need to analyze this', your brain will go," Dick waves his hand dismissively, "'analyze, schmanalyze, just do!'” he says, getting rewarded with a chuckle. “And, worst of all, you'll be bound to uphold promises given by other people. Promises that are sometimes incredibly stupid. Promises like how I promised you the right to leave us when you have inside knowledge of what we're doing. Failure to uphold a promise comes with dire consequences. Banishment or death. It's the reason Packrunners are so trusted."

Dick takes a sip of his all too quickly diminishing drink. "Once you're part of the pack you won't be allowed to leave. Not with me as a Main. We'll tell you that you are, offer you a soft fade, but our actions from the moment you express a wish to leave will be geared to ensnare you further.” He gives Jay a brief, pointed look to put weight on the statement before looking at the dancing flames in the fireplace. “But a bond comes with benefits too. You'll have a pack full of people ready to die for your safety, who'll find your happiness important. You'll be trusted in a way you aren't right now. These people, they're strange. They consider the compulsion part of their personalities, not something that happens to them. Their reaction to your bond will be to consider you a part of themselves without question, because that's what it feels like. I envy them the easy acceptance of it.” He tips his head back to look at the ceiling with a small sigh. “It was hard for me. It wasn't until the war separated me from the pack that I fully understood them.”

“How do you mean?”

Dick rolls his head to the side to look at Jason. “Chelsea. You met her, right?”

“Yes.”

“She’s a battlefield recruit. Last of her pack. Fought alongside Frederick and Joe. I hadn’t met her until she came to the Shurley camp where I was stationed. The moment I smelt her I felt a huge relief and joy. We hugged like long lost friends before we even spoke our first words to each other. That’s the pack bond. Packrunners don’t question it. Me? After every such instance, I’ve sat there wondering what the hell just happened.” Dick huffs in self-deprecating amusement. “But give me a year or five and I’ll probably be over any post-bond-coercion panic,” he says and looks at Jay with lips quirked in a faint smile.

Jason briefly returns the smile then looks away, staring at nothing while his eyes move as if he’s watching something in his head, thinking a mile a minute. He smells of both hints of anxiety and excitement.

“So,” Dick says. “Take the money, the clothes, the jewelry, the name, the freedom, and walk away. You can align yourself with the side with the biggest chance of winning. It’s not us. But…” He drags a hand through his hair and shifts position. “You have a unique perspective, compared to the Williams pack. Either the members are high-borne, raised here, sent to schools,” Dick interrupts himself by chuckling. “Did you know Marlon thought the difference between people like us and people like him were that we got worse food at school?” Jason looks at him sharply so Dick shrugs. “He was a kit still, but it’s indicative of how privileged they’re raised. If they weren’t born here or didn’t come here after meeting a Williams at college and falling in love, then they’re battlefield recruits, often from rural packs who’ve known war all their lives, who either were forced to become soldiers because they found the Union at the doorstep of their pack’s farm, or simply joined the army because small-town living wasn’t cutting it for them. With the new mercenaries we’ve accidentally acquired, that’s shifted somewhat, but those members are foreigners who don’t fully understand American culture and society. My point is, we won New York as peacefully and quickly as we did, because of you.”

“What?” Jay frowns in confusion.

“I eavesdropped on a conversation you had with Phillip when you told him the Pyrefolks are uncorrupt and well respected by everyone. My only dealings with them have been when they’ve kindly asked me to move from my sleeping spot because someone had reported me as a corpse. Rich people don’t deal with them, they burn their own dead at their estates, so do people living in the countryside. But you knew. So what do you do when the lion’s share of the population is illiterate and the newspapers write lies? You go for the trusted news sources. I already knew the tidings kits were one, but without you, I wouldn’t have known about the Pyrefolk. And, as it turns out, they have a very wide reach. All I had to do was convince them we’re the good guys. We had the lower and middle class supporting us before the politicians and upper class had even started suspecting we were on to them. That’s why everything went so smoothly.”

Jay takes a sip and smells excited. He looks carefully proud.

“What I’m saying is, I want you to become part of my pack. I’ve had plans to use you, but up until now, I also haven’t been sure if I could trust you or convince you to give what I want from you.”

“You want to use me…?” Jason says with a careful smirk.

“Yes. Again, it comes down to your unique perspective. I want to eradicate slavery in our whole territory. I wasn’t sure how to phrase the suggestion to you without you refusing. Then you bring it up yourself, gift-wrapped.”

Jason laughs. “You call letting me have my revenge using me?” he sniggers. “And here I thought you were setting me up for something much more sinister.” He shakes his head with a grin. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to suggest we go after the slave trade without it seeming like I’m just a vindictive bastard. You and I, we’re very alike in a lot of ways, but I want revenge, and you don’t. I was certain you’d say no if you figured out my motives.”

Dick’s perplexed. “Why would you want revenge? They’re the ones who allowed you to make enough money to go to college.”

“They stole Jared from me and turned him against me. Covin got killed because of them,” Jay says with a bitter sneer. “Those bastards steal the freedom from people out of greed, letting people like me do their dirty work, knowing full well we’re desperate enough not to have a choice. You think they pay well just because it got me into college? Not nearly well enough. That took years of savings, mine _and_ Covin’s, because he helped me once he understood I was dead-set on getting an education. It’s not right that kits are so mistreated and starved that slavery is something good happening to them. It’s not right that slavery is a better option than an orphanage. And Snatchers are assholes. We lose our humanity. I’m not a good person because they’ve burned any empathy out of me. I don’t care. I don’t really care for those kits that end up in orphanages or the slave trade. What I care about is that look of apprehension in your eyes when I play with Anna, Sebastian, and the other kits, reminding me we’re not really friends and you still view me as the lowlife who tried to grab you. You still see me as a piece of shit. And I am. All Snatchers are. We’re shit. I’m shit, and a name change won’t change that. I’m still just a turd with a thin coating of fake gold painted on it. _Fff―_ ” he cuts himself off and drags his hand over his face, then downs his drink and gets up. “I need a refill. You want one?” he doesn’t wait for the answer. Instead, he snags the crystal decanter, brings it back with him, and pours a good measure to both himself and Dick, putting the decanter on the side table and sitting down with a heavy thud.

Dick looks at the golden liquid in his glass, debating whether to drink it or not. Marcel had said a small beer or a glass of wine now and then wasn’t too dangerous. Not nearly as dangerous as it is for a static human to drink while pregnant, but it might still cause miscarriage. Dick has a bitter thought that as horny and temperamental as Lucifer is, disrupting Dick’s life, he damn well deserves to be kicked out prematurely if he can’t handle one full glass of alcohol. Then he resigns to only dip his tongue into the glass to get the taste before putting the glass away. “You’re projecting, dear,” he tells Jason. “If I thought you were a piece of shit I wouldn’t ask you to become part of my pack.”

“Oh no? Why haven’t you told anyone what I did for a living before the war then?” Jason challenges and drains half his glass in one go.

“Because, dear, Mar would kill you. A pair of Snatchers grabbed him as a kit. He killed one, ripped the eye out of the other, and spat it back in the guy’s face. The whole event was very traumatic for him. Anything he feels, he feels with insane force, including hatred. He’s the only Packrunner I know who constantly fights his bond-compulsion at least a little bit and it makes him unstable.” Dick hadn’t even thought of that until the words are out of his mouth, but once he says it, he knows it’s true. Mar has been in conflict with his pack bond since he was a little kit. It explains so much. “I needed you to become friends first so I could keep him calm while I tell him. I did tell Aiden, though.”

“Aiden? But he…” Jason trails off in surprise.

“Treats you with respect? Offers you his sincere friendship?” Dick asks with a small smile. “Indeed. I told you, you’re projecting.”

Jay takes a deep breath and stares at the glass in his hand. “About a month ago, I met the cat. There are lots of cats running around here. I usually don’t pay them much attention. I don’t have to eat them here, right? But this cat carried a small dress in his mouth. Fattest cat I ever saw. Ugly, with its face all flat. He dropped the dress at my feet and meowed loudly at me. I picked up the dress and he started stroking himself against my legs, purring. The dress had its sleeve holes forward, right? Like it was sewn to fit the cat. So on a whim, I bent down and put it on. Cat was purring like a damned car engine, right? Then I got up and started walking away but the cat ran in front of my feet, nearly tripping me up. He kept meowing, and when I stopped he walked down the opposite end of the corridor, looking over his shoulder, then came running back meowing until I got with the program and followed."

Dick leans on the armrest towards Jay, utterly intrigued despite the complete change of topics. "The mystery of the cat in a dress. Nobody's explained it to me," he says.

Jason offers him a brief smile. "It gets weirder. The cat led me to a closed door and meowed for me to open it. I did. Inside, there's a playroom with a miniature table in the middle, complete with miniature chairs, and a miniature tea set. The cat went straight for one of the chairs, hopped up on it and looked at me, waiting. I took a few steps in, confused as hell. When I didn't move the cat used a paw to pull a small pink plate closer to itself and meowed at me. I told him that I didn't understand what he wanted from me just as Sandra passed by in the corridor. She popped inside to point at a cupboard and told me she thought Clara kept the stuff in there before leaving again. So I went there and found cans of tuna, spam, and salmon. I took one can and served it to the cat on that tiny pink plate, but the damn cat just kept staring at me. I thought he didn’t like salmon, so I sat down on one of those miniature chairs to resent him for being picky, but when I did the bastard started to eat. And I thought, ‘this is how they treat their damn animals’.” He touches his necklace and looks at the flames in the fireplace. “I wondered if that’s what I was to them. Some silly pet to dress up and train. But then I thought about the mercs sitting with the Williamses talking about some battle they’ve both participated in on different sides, and how the affection I see between them seem genuine enough…”

“I’ve told you so many times, Packrunners are strange,” Dick says with a small smile.

Jason grunts and throws him a side-eyed glance, smirking. “You don’t say… anyway, when I found out Clara has wandered and is now part of a pack in British Columbia in Canada, I started feeling sorry for the damn cat. Poor bastard is neglected.” He huffs. “He gets fed and someone is brushing him, so he’s not really neglected. But this Clara-girl had been playing tea party with him for years and now he wants to keep doing it and nobody can explain to him that Clara’s not coming back. Have you ever been guilt-tripped by a cat? I’ve been having afternoon tea with a cat in a dress twice a week now.”

Dick chuckles. “I have. I was living in the Perlino Arch, next to the Bolton core, when I was still a young Juvie. I came home one day to find a cat had given birth in my nest. I could’ve just barred the entrance and had food for a week or two, but instead, I resigned myself to the role of father and provider.”

Jay chuckles and lifts his glass in a toast.

“Jason, you’re asking if any of the warmth and welcoming you’ve received is sincere, and if it would be if they know what you used to do. The answer is yes. I personally do consider you a friend, despite our trust issues. I hope we can move past those. And I want you to become part of the pack. And not just as a roundabout excuse to get you to knot me again.”

Jay throws his head back laughing, then grins at Dick, eyes sparkling.

Dick gives him a wink. “For the record, it would be a valid excuse. But more importantly, I want you to choose, knowing the consequences. I didn’t know about the bond compulsion. I don’t want to trick you into it. Now that you know, do you want to become part of my pack, and help me bring down slavery?”

Jay gets serious. “Yes. I would like that very much,” he answers, eyes sincere.

“In that case, come over here and siphon me, dear,” Dick says with a come-hither gesture.

* * *


	31. The Best Fighter In The Pack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick's political career begins and he spends some one-on-one time with his mates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, a huge thank you to my betas Lisa and Melina. <3<3<3

* * *

Jay is laughably unprepared for how friendly affection goes to unconditional love overnight. Watching Jason react to the pack reacting to his bond, is fast becoming Dick’s favorite thing. Like entering a room together to hear Leoh squeal and come thundering, throwing herself around Jason’s neck with a face-splitting smile, rubbing herself all over him, saying, “You’re finally home!” while Jay looks at Dick like ‘What the hell is going on???’, as he pats Leoh awkwardly on the back. The two of them sat together at dinner the day before and the only difference today is the pack bond.

Or like when a group is repairing the wall and a huge stone comes loose from the winching. Jay throws himself at an Alpha standing right underneath, barely avoiding getting crushed himself. Afterward, he complains to Dick, "I barely know the guy! I could've died!" with an absolutely bewildered expression. It's the bond compulsion Dick warned him about. Selfishly, it feels good not to be the only one with trouble adapting to the bond.

It's also interesting to see how the addition of a new member changes rankings within the pack. Dick spies a lot of rank-establishing sex happening. Jason is as unwilling to fold as Dick ever was. While he does fold for the highest-ranking Alphas, everyone else is a no-go. Except, he quite surprisingly folds to Frederick who’s just a few steps from the bottom. That propels Frederick up to the high-ranks. "About time," Jed says contentedly, Sean nodding along. Dick doesn't pretend to understand how pack rank works.

* * *

Dick wakes up slowly. There’s only one warm body beside him, meaning his other bed-partners have started their day. Usually, he would’ve been one of the first ones to rise, waking up bright and early with the first light of dawn. But he’s been so darned tired lately. Some asshole has pulled the curtains and the light hitting his eyelids tells him it’s mid-morning already. His bladder demands he get up. He really, really doesn’t want to. His head’s cushioned by a strong, wonderful-smelling arm, a stubbly cheek is rested against his chest, and a big, gentle hand caresses the bump on his belly. His companion keeps up a low, content purr disrupted by small, happy chirps. Dick lies there enjoying the slow, peaceful wakeup despite the pressing urge to relieve himself.

After a while, his conscience starts nagging at him. There are things that need to be done, and if he’s not up it means someone else has to do them. He reluctantly opens his eyes to watch Marlon lie tucked against him, looking down at his belly with a gentle smile. “Good morning, dear,” Dick says.

Mar jerks the hand from Dick’s belly as if burned, tensing up. "I love you," he says defensively and looks at Dick with round, guilty eyes, licking his lips submissively, smelling anxious.

Dick's temper roars to life at the sight of fear but he manages to quell it before it can show its ugly head. He reaches out, grabs Marlon's hand, and settles it back on his kitling-bump, covering it with his hand to prevent Mar from withdrawing again. “I appreciate the effort, dear. But the problem was never that you showed Lucifer your love. The problem was that you treated me like the lifeless shell around an unhatched chick, then were too distracted by your son to listen when I tried to tell you how I felt.” Whatever Jed had said to Mar, it worked. Mar made a noticeable effort to ignore Dick’s bump in favor of giving Dick his attention. Dick wishes it didn’t take effort, but Mar’s love for his two unborn kitlings is only rivaled by his love for their big sister Anna. “I’m tired of missing people who are right next to me. That’s your brother’s bailiwick, so don’t act in a manner that makes me feel that way, and I won’t mind when you touch my belly and talk to the asshole living inside of it.”

Mar unfolds to nuzzle Dick’s chest where he’s resting his head. “I’m sorry I made you feel like that. I didn’t feel like I was neglecting you. What did you miss about me?” he asks and tilts his head up to meet Dick’s gaze curiously.

“Oh, I don’t know. Did you quit writing? You haven’t brought me anything of yours to read in ages. And have you lost your interest in history? I’ve had to get my bellyful of history by eavesdropping on Phillip talking to Jason, but Phillip, bless his old heart, isn’t nearly as good at telling stories as you are. And we haven’t danced for ages. It's like the only passion of yours you're willing to share with me these days is your passion for kits and political reform.”

“I thought you―”

“If you say, ‘can’t dance while pregnant’, I swear, I’ll rip you apart,” Dick growls, teething all his teeth. He hates getting angry for nothing like he does these days. But he hates it more when he’s told he can’t do something because he’s pregnant.

Mar licks his lips submissively but his eyes gleam with amusement. “I was going to say, ‘didn’t have time’.” His hand leaves the baby bump to come to rest on Dick’s chest instead. “Plus… I worried my history lectures and writing were just other things you thought you had to put up with…” he admits.

“Oh dear, _no_. I love that about you. You can be overwhelming sometimes, but your passions are things I treasure about you."

Mar chirps and gives Dick an affectionate temple rub. "I still write. Mostly kits' stories," he says. "I read them to Anna every night at 8 when we put her to bed."

“Can I come to listen? Or would I be intruding upon your Anna-time?” Dick asks hopefully.

“Of course you can come,” Mar says with a burst of happiness tickling Dick’s nose pleasantly. “But you’re always busy around that time.”

“Mmh. I am. But it would do me good to have a breakpoint to where my day goes from work to rest, and I’d consider listening to you read your stories priority enough to tell people I have more important things to do at 8,” Dick says. Mar’s smile is like pure sunshine, and Dick returns it. ”Did I ever say thank you for how easily you gave up your god for me?”

Mar’s smile doesn’t waver, nor the happiness in his scent, but his eyes get more serious. He hesitates before he answers and pulls his arm under Dick’s head back a bit so he can support himself on his elbow to look down at Dick. “It’s not… The choice was easy, but it’s not _easy_ ,” he confesses. “It’s become part of me. It happens often that I have to catch myself with the Light on the tip of my tongue. I pray daily to Ares because I don’t think I can just quit praying altogether. I needed a replacement. I liked the sacrilege of reciting the scripture while making love to Finn. I never noticed myself slipping from making a mockery of a god to worship. I justified myself, made excuses of wanting to confuse our enemies by wearing the star. Letting go is much harder than I imagined.” Apparently, Mar smells Dick’s guilty conscience and frowns, shaking his head. “No, it’s not a sacrifice. I told you, the choice was easy. No god can compete with you and Arvid. I’m just saying it’s harder to let go than I was prepared for. I’m simply trying to be honest with you. Jed said I need to be honest about things for our mateship to work in the long run. And Marcel said―”

Dick snorts and waves a hand dismissively. “Marcel says a lot of things. He’s as interested in creating conflicts as solving them. Since you mentioned Arvid,” he says to change the subject, “why aren’t you mated yet? Don’t you want to get mated to him?”

Mar suddenly looks guilty. “I do.”

“So what’s taking you so long?”

“Please don’t get mad,” Mar asks. Dick lifts an eyebrow dryly and Mar looks down at his hand, eyeing where his fingertips dance over Dick’s chest. “I like courting. I love the whole procedure of courting, the building tensions, the ridiculous showing off, the getting to know each other in new ways… You and I never really got to do all that properly and I would like to do it right this time around. But I don’t want you to get jealous…”

Dick chuckles and covers Marlon’s hand with his own. “Hardly, dear. I was worried that my plans of keeping him here would fall through. Both you and Laurent are in love with him and those feelings are returned, so if he'd try to leave prematurely I'd have to lock him in the dungeon."

Mar blinks in confusion. "Laurent's in love with Arvid? Since when?"

Dick frowns with a bemused smile. "Since always? That's how I knew it was Arvid who was the prisoner at camp. Laurent had introduced me to his scent and proceeded to gush so it felt like I already knew him. You honestly didn't know?"

Mar shakes his head.

"Oh my. Well, the consensus in our rat-pack was that you'd called dibs so Laurent would never dream of actually making a move. I'm hoping that once you get mated and have passed the first infatuation faze, you'll allow him to share Arvid's love like you accept him sharing mine. Now, as much as I love lying here talking to you, Lucifer is an asshole who, in addition to being a temperamental horndog, has also decided that I don't need space for my bladder when he started expanding his nest.”

Marlon grins and sits up. “You still refuse to acknowledge that it’s you who’s become a temperamental horndog?”

“Oh, it’s definitely him, not me,” Dick says as he scoots himself out of bed. He’s so damn tired. He wonders if Lucifer’s to blame for that too. “They’re not traits I recognize as mine so the logical conclusion is that Lucifer’s living vicariously through me. I got the better end of the stick, though,” he says and goes towards the bathroom, Mar getting out of bed to follow. “Michael’s demanding Mal only eat custard and Brussel sprouts. _Brussel sprouts._ No wonder she’s constantly throwing up.” He has a full-body shiver just thinking about the taste of the tiny, adorable cabbages that Mal’s had a craving for since she got pregnant. 

Marlon laughs. “Darling, they’re about the only thing she _doesn’t_ throw up.” He follows Dick into the bathroom and Dick makes sure to sit down on the toilet so Mar can’t put his finger into the stream of pee to siphon it. Mar won’t hesitate to do that. Neither would the doctor who arrived with the Demon’s Lot. (Dick’s not sure what his name is. Everyone just calls him Doc.) Dick’s tired of it. Siphoning pee can tell you things that even siphoning secretion can’t and he knows they’re just trying to check his and Lucifer’s health status, but he doesn’t like the invasion of privacy. As predicted, Mar starts siphoning the air as soon as Dick lets his bladder go. Dick prefers squeamish Alphas, like Aiden, who wouldn’t dream of trying to siphon his pee. But Marlon’s Marlon, take it or leave it. Mar stops siphoning and crouches down in front of Dick, crossing his arms over Dick’s thighs to look up at him. He clears his throat. “Uhm. Since I gave up something for you… could you give up something for me?”

Dick’s instantly suspicious but tries to hide it. “Perhaps? What do you want me to quit?” he asks with a small, pleasant smile.

“Could you stop having sex with other people?” Mar asks. At Dick’s blank stare he hastes to add, “You can still have sex with your other mates, of course. And I realize that as the Main, it’s your duty to confirm bonds, so I’m not going to oppose that.” When Dick still doesn’t answer he adds, “And Mal and Arvid are fine too, of course. But aside from those exceptions?”

Dick looks away, thinking, the fake smile still in place, clipping his scent to hide the sudden rage threatening to make him lash out. Instead, he reaches out to pet Mar’s hair, trying to discern why the question makes him so angry. At face value, it’s a reasonable request, one that, when Lucifer isn’t at the reins, is easy to grant. He isn’t naturally hedonistic. He prefers to make love to people who share close emotional bonds to him. Before he got pregnant, sex with others made him iffy. So why does he feel like lashing out and throwing up mental barriers? “I don’t think I can do that, dear. Not now...”

“No, no. Of course not. Not with the pregnancy having you in constant pseudo-Heat,” Mar’s quick to agree. “But after?”

Dick shakes his head and looks down at Mar’s hopeful face. “Not then. Perhaps in a few years. But a promise like that.” He takes a deep breath, trying to find the words. “It wouldn’t be a hard promise for me to keep, technically. But it would take a great mental toll, I think.”

Mar frowns in a lack of understanding. “If you meet someone you want to have sex with, or feel like doing it with someone else, you can ask me and I can say yes or no. It doesn’t have to mean you’ll never have sex with anyone but us ever again. I’m a reasonable man.”

Despite himself, Dick snorts a little laugh. “You’re a lot of things, dear, but reasonable isn’t one of them. No. Sex with random people isn’t the problem. I prefer not to have it. I think… I think it’s more to do with agency, and trying to let go of the ultra-Conservative doctrine I grew up with. To not feel ashamed of things like nudity and sex, or simply feeling sexual attraction to anyone who isn’t my mate. What you’re asking isn’t about sex. You’re asking me to give you control of my body, to let you make my personal choices for me, the way Arvid so easily allows. We’re very different people with vastly different experiences, he and I. Unlike me, he’s very hedonistic, yet it isn’t a sacrifice to him. But for me, it’s about freeing myself from the mental shackles I didn’t even know I was wearing until I presented and converted. Your pack already stole my agency from me once when you sniped me. I don’t want to feel like I’m property.”

“Richard…”

“No. Let me finish, dear,” Dick says, anger finally waning as quickly as it came. “I can make you a deal. In five years, I’ll agree to your terms, if that’s something you still want. That’ll give me time to work on the issues I have. _But_. Only if you agree to work on your issues. Your possessiveness and jealousy can be stifling, and frequently you interpret actions and words as being targeted at you, specifically, when they really aren’t. Your fear of abandonment makes you risk pushing people away by holding on too hard. Find someone to talk to, someone you dare be honest with, and respect enough to listen to, who has good insight into how our minds work. Maybe in five years you’ll no longer have the urgent need to isolate me or control me? And if you do―”

“I don’t want to isolate you and control you,” Mar interrupts, scent unexpectedly souring with fear.

“Oh?” Dick says and raises an eyebrow. “Then what are you trying to accomplish with your request?” he asks, pushes Mar’s arms off him to stand up, flushes the toilet, and grabs Mar’s hand to lead him to the shower to show him the discussion isn’t over just because Dick pushed him off. “What I heard you ask was that I not have sex with anyone whom you didn’t already control to some extent, and I already know you dislike any friendships I begin to form with other Alphas who aren’t in your inner circle. Marcel doesn’t even bother calling you by name, he just says ‘the possessive one’. It certainly feels like you wish to isolate me.”

Mar presses himself against Dick’s back, wrapping his arms around him. He reeks of distress. “No, no. Darling, I don’t want that.”

Dick turns on the water, keeping them out of the spray while it warms up, then turns around to wrap his arms around Marlon. “Why are you so distressed, dear? I love you. These aren’t accusations flung to hurt you. We’re having a discussion that will prevent future fights. I’m simply asking you to examine the roots of your actions.”

“It’s what they do. I don’t want to be like them.”

“Who does?”

“The Aristocrats. Did I tell you about the Debutante Balls?”

“No, but I’m familiar with the concept. My family had similar customs and mom would talk to my sister about them sometimes. She’d tell my sister she’d get to wear her finest clothing and go to a party with nice food and dancing, where she’d be introduced to nice Alphas to get to know them. Then, if she met an Alpha she liked, she’d get to go on many chaperoned dates with him in hopes of love happening. I’m certain it’s something similar to that?”

Mar looks utterly horrified. “Your parents started grooming your sister that early?” Anger mixes with the distress in his scent.

“Grooming? I suppose you could call it that. They talked to my brother about it too, about how to conduct himself when it was time. We loved to hear them talk about it since they told us about their own meeting and love for each other. It was all very fairytale-y, and we’d never been to a party in our lives, so we looked forward to it.”

“No wonder Conservative Os…” Mar trails off then, blinks, giving himself a shake. “Yes. Debutante Balls are just like that. Except, if the O and Alpha like each other, the O moves in with him for an extended period. Officially, it’s for them to get to know each other so she can choose, but in reality, it’s to force a mating-bond by isolating her with him. I was so upset when I found out, and now you’re telling me I’m just like them. I, I…”

Dick lets go with one hand to reach behind them to see if the water’s warm. It is, so he backs them into the spray. “To be perfectly honest, dearheart, your aristocratic tendencies are something I find vastly attractive in you. Your inclination to act as if your mate is your property the way they do, not as much, but it has never escalated into a problem between us. Though I suspect it might if I adhere to your request before I’ve come to terms with my own issues,” he says, blinking water out of his eyes and enjoying how his hands glide over Marlon’s slippery back.

Mar closes his eyes and leans their foreheads together. They stand like that under the warm spray for a long time before Mar opens his eyes. “Five years is a long time, but I understand what you’re saying. I don’t like it, but I agree to the terms.”

Dick smiles, genuinely this time, and kisses him on the lips. “Thank you, dear. And while we’re on the topic of things you don’t like, I have lied to you about something. I feared you’d lose your temper, possibly killing the horse that could win the race because you don’t like the metal of its shoes, so to speak. I wish to come clean, and when I do, I need you to remain calm and rational.”

“Okay?” Mar says with an uncertain frown, reaching for the soap on a rope hanging on the shower wall.

“No need to look that suspicious, dear. I think you’ll be delighted with my plan for what I’ve done. But it’s something I need to tell all the high ranking members. Can we perhaps congregate somewhere more comfortable than a conference room? I was thinking, Jason’s room, after lunch?” Dick pretends he doesn’t suggest it purely for Jay’s comfort and sense of security.

“Okay,” Mar answers, less apprehensive, and starts to lather Dick up. Dick’s come a long way since he had his first bath with Aiden. Today, he loves both taking baths and showering. He likes it even more together with someone. He’s ready to enjoy this shower fully when a thought hits him.

“Can I ask you something? The Snatchers you’ve gone after, how did you know what they were?”

“I saw them grab kits,” Mar answers easily.

“Have any of them used the method I described when I told you how they got me?”

Mar shakes his head. “No. I don’t think I could’ve understood they were Snatchers if they did. Why?”

Dick breathes out a sigh of relief. He’d suddenly been worried Mar might have killed Jay’s mentor and he’d have to rethink his approach to things lest Jay be the one overtaken by hate. “Just curious, dear.”

* * *

They gather on Jason’s bed. Aiden places himself strategically between Jay and Mar, just in case. Jed, Sean, Frederick, Jane, Sandra, Leoh, they’re all there, along with Marcel and Arvid for Jason’s sake, and Mal and Laurent because Dick wants them there, sitting cross-legged or lying on the huge bed inside the canopy. It makes for a far more relaxed setting than a conference room would have. It turns out Dick had worried for nothing. He learns that to ensure Mar will be calm and collected in a situation that might set him off, you simply have to make him promise to remain calm. The worst thing he does is clench and unclench his jaws when he finds out Jay used to be a Snatcher. Then, when Dick tells them Jay himself approached him to suggest they take down the slave trade, Mar gets that intense gleam in his eyes while looking at Jay. Laurent laughs and nudges Jay, saying “You’re in trouble. That’s his ‘We’re friends now, I’ve decided’-look. Now you’ll never get rid of him,” making Mal, Aid, and Dick snigger. Someone asks how come Jay chose to become a Snatcher and Jay’s forced to talk about his kithood, yet everyone receives his story with sympathy and gradually he relaxes, hopefully realizing they won’t shun him or think less of him due to his past.

Dick had worried in vain.

* * *

The Teyshas won their fights and now have an envoy living with the Williamses, Osage, since it somehow got decided that the Williams core home is the hub of the rebels. (It’s to do with the Williamses military tradition.) More and more returning packs send envoys, often the Main or Patriarch, or, if not, someone else high ranking. Meetings are going on at all times during the day in the estate. 

As the military starts returning, both because of the call for mass desertion, and to combat it, the country descends into chaos. The Aristocrats are panicking, kitnapping Packrunners and Progs alike, confiscating their property, throwing them in work camps, hijacking the press and imprisoning journalists. Pirate radio becomes a thing all over the US. The channels operate safely within the borders of the two pack-run territories and the Williams pack helps fund any independent media outlets. That's one of Marlon's passions. He invites journalists to watch their meetings and accompany them on missions. He refuses to censor what they can write, but he makes a deal with them about _when_ they can publish. They're not allowed to publish anything that may endanger lives so they must withhold publication until after the intel can no longer be a threat if leaked.

The problem with the American army versus the American army is that you never know which side a company belongs to when they move through the country. Companies break free from one side or the other to join the opposition. Individual soldiers are told lies and the misinformation spreads like wildfire. Dick wants something to distinguish their side. He rejects the idea of making new uniforms of a different cut and color. Not only would it cost a lot of money, but it would visually reinforce the divide and he’s keen to have people understand they’re fighting their brethren to make sure they’ll want to stop. It’s a hard nut to crack and his mind is always fiddling with the question when it’s idle. Still, a solution has evaded him.

Meetings sometimes get long-winded and repetitive. When they do, he’ll stand up and remind the participants that this isn’t a democracy. If they live on his territory, they can sit down and suck it up. If they don’t, their opinions have been heard but if they get too disruptive they can go back and seek out their own dominant pack to whine to. He also reminds them that in this time despite the need for unity, he won’t hesitate to put a pack war on the list of wars to be fought. He also reminds them of the duties they would be burdened with if they win. It’s a long list. This is also how Dick learns that there’s exactly no difference between how pack-member rank-fights are settled and rank between packs. One Main turns to another across from her and says “Should you go for the Williamses and win I’ll be coming for you. There’s no way we’ll accept you deciding shit over us.” In short, the dominant pack of a greater territory is like a Main. If they’re challenged and unseated, other packs might rise to oppose their new leadership. There’s only one pack belonging to the Williams territory, from West Virginia, that would be fit to take over the role of the dominant pack, but they’ve got no interest in it and Dick has their full support.

* * *

Aiden roars in his face, a vein throbbing on his forehead. “No! Are you deranged?! You absolutely _cannot do that!_ I forbid it!” he yells, pacing back and forth like a caged animal.

Oddly enough, anytime Aid’s temper flares, Dick manages to keep his calm. He surmises Lucifer is afraid of his dad and doesn’t want to get uppity with him. Dick, however, has no such qualms. “I can, and I will, dear. It’s necessary and you’ve got no power to stop me.”

Aiden throws his hands up. “It’s not necessary! We’ve already won New York. And you’re carrying my kit. You’d be putting him in danger too!”

Like that, Dick’s calm winks out. Aiden sneezes from the sting of his anger, then averts his face and licks his lips in resentful submission when Dick’s the one to roar at him. “Let’s get this straight, shall we?” Dick says tightly. “Just because we forgot to use condoms doesn’t mean my body somehow suddenly became yours to govern.”

“You’re the most important member of the pack and you’re putting your life at risk to court insignificant people who already have a good opinion of you,” Aid counters.

“I’m going to let it slide that you’re deeming _my kind_ insignificant, but keeping their favor is very important. They’re all my heralds. More and more people are returning from the war and I can’t keep focusing on the city forever. Nor can I conjure up more quick fixes for the city’s problems. Everything else we need to do is long-term projects. I need them to tell the home-comers that the city’s ruled by Dick Roman now. To say, ‘He’s a swell guy, I’ve met him.’ So that when I say something will have to wait until after the war, they’ll trust me and be patient. Your son is making it increasingly hard for me to look good in clothes and move with grace, two things I need to do in order to win the masses.”

Aiden glares at him. “Do you even see my standpoint? It’s insane to launch a political campaign just as the civil war is turning serious. We’re already seeing clashes between rebels and the army on American soil. It would be far too easy for someone to shoot or stab you if you go around amongst the common people shaking hands.”

“So come with me. Use that red-eyed charm while being my protective shadow. Help me win people’s hearts.”

“I would have physically tied you up if you’d tried to prevent me from doing that,” Aiden says. “Darn it, you’re as stubborn as Mar,” he utters in frustration. “Can’t you think about your own safety for once?” he begs and wraps his arms around Dick. 

Dick melts into the embrace, putting his ear to Aiden’s chest to listen to the rapid heartbeat with a sense of relief. The answer is; no. Dick won’t, and Aiden folds. Dick’s happy they never really fight these days or things would have been much harder. That’s a sentiment that makes Jed laugh. “Darling sweetkit, fight is all you ever do,” he says, but what does he know?

Overall, the pack’s not happy about Dick’s decision to launch a political campaign at this time. They think it can wait until after the war is won, while Dick thinks it’s how the war _will_ be won. He points out that the way they’ve been ruling the last century is what created the divide between them as the dominant pack and the inhabitants of their territory. He means to bridge that gap, and Kitsaiish Teyshas (often called Kichai by those less adept at pronouncing foreign languages than Dick) down in Texas is doing the same. They’re going back to a more traditional pack rule, something Dick’s learning about as he goes but Kitsaiish has in her blood, and they’re exchanging ideas over encrypted radio signals through the mercenaries working for them. 

It’s time to meet the public.

* * *

The streets are clean. They smell different. The smell of feces, decay, and garbage is minimal compared to before. There are trash cans on regular intervals even here in the slums; ones that get emptied often enough not to stink or overflow. There are outhouses available, hastily built but also emptied and cleaned often enough not to repulse. There's activity everywhere but not the activities Dick's used to seeing. Houses are being repaired, facades get new plaster, he sees two street sweepers at work and smells food being prepared. The people he meets smell far more prosperous and happy than he ever remembers everyone smelling in the slums before.

"Doesn't all this make you boil with rage?" Dick asks Jason who's walking to his left. Most of Dick’s entourage is spread out loosely around him. The idea is to connect with the people, not wall himself in behind soldiers. 

"All this?" Jay asks looking around in bewilderment like he’s done since they got out of the car after they crossed the bridge.

"The change," Dick clarifies. "I barely recognize the area and I grew up here."

"That makes you angry?" Aiden asks from Dick's other side. "I would have thought it would make you happy. You did this."

Dick shakes his head. "No. It was too easy."

"I'm too rattled to be angry, but ask me again when we get home," Jason answers Dick.

Aiden frowns and shakes his head in confusion. "I don't get it. Did you _want_ it to be hard?"

Dick stops and puts a hand on Aiden's chest, then turns to face him when he stops. "You say I did this. Very well. I used the pack's money to hire people that could arrest the current politicians, I took the power and executed them. Did you listen when I had their crimes read to the people? I executed them for breaking laws that were in place before they started changing the laws willy-nilly. I executed them for corruption and crimes against the people. Then I used a competent military to organize the change. To find locals that could continue with what they started. My orders to get rid of homelessness and to feed people generated more jobs than I could imagine. There are barely any Snatchers working the streets. We're only using tax money and money seized from the politicians we killed. I did this with the resources readily available. Correct me if I'm wrong."

"You're right. So what's the problem?" Aiden asks with a little shrug.

Dick stares at him with pinched lips. "Jason, would you be a doll and tell him, dear?"

Jay looks at Aid and deadpans, "Why didn't you do this sooner?"

Aiden draws breath as if to speak but Dick doesn't let him. " _Don't_ , answer that question. If you do, I might actually hurt you," he says. "I can think of a number of reasons and every single one of them makes me mad. Instead, what I want you to do is to smile and flare and charm anyone we come across, making sure they know we're the real leadership now. Will you do that for me?"

"Of course."

There's literally no reason Dick had to grow up starving, homeless, and in fear of being kitnapped into slavery, and he's furious to discover that. “Good. We can discuss this more in-depth when we get home if you like, but for now, it’s best if I don’t smell as if I want to murder someone.”

There’s a man walking towards them carrying a heavy load of long planks. They sidestep to let him pass. His burden is heavy enough for Dick to smell pain as he passes. They’re about the same height, so on a whim, Dick steps in behind him, taking the planks on his own shoulders to help him carry. The man throws a startled look over his shoulder and smiles when Dick gives him a friendly smile. “Thanks, son.”

“No problem.” When they’ve walked for a little bit, Dick asks, “How’s life been treating you lately?”

The man laughs. “You must be new in town.”

“Born under a cart on the docks, actually,” Dick deadpans, “but I’ve been away for a bit.”

“Ah. In that case, go register at City Hall. They’ll help you with a job and housing. You won’t even have to pay rent now. It’s a temporary thing, but it’ll give you the chance to earn money to afford a place of your own.”

“Is that what you’re doing?”

“Mhm. Me and my mate have paying jobs. The kits are down in the workhouses, where they learn to read, and get fed twice a day. We all have Wednesdays off. I'm planning to take the family to a museum or maybe the zoo when those things start opening again. Splurge a little. Although, I heard they shot all the zoo animals when the draft happened," the man says. He smells happy. A lot of people smell a mixture of happiness and anxiety.

"Really?" Dick throws a questioning look behind himself to see both Aiden and two of the mercs accompanying them shake their heads. "So… museums, you say?"

"I used to love going to museums when I was younger,” the man muses. “But times have been rough for a while. We lived hand to mouth and luxuries like having a day off to do something with the family have had to wait."

"Oh dear. That needs to change.”

The man laughs. “It’s already changing, son. That’s why we’re waiting for the museums to reopen. Me and the missus would like to go see some art, but I don’t think the kits would appreciate that. But there’s the wax museum, or the Museum of Natural History, or maybe…” he babbles on about possible places to take the kits now that they can afford both to put some away for a rainy day and still have some extra left. Dick listens, hiding his bewilderment. He’s never been to a museum in his life or even considered that as a thing that you could do. He helps the man unload at one of the many building sites. The man stretches and turns to Dick. “Thanks, son. And congratulations.” He looks at Jason who’s kept closest to Dick the whole time. “Are you the proud father?”

Startled, Jason blinks, opens his mouth and shuts it again. 

“No, that would be me,” Aiden says and steps forward with his trademark charming smile. “And, terrified father would be more accurate.”

The man laughs. “Oh, tell me about it. I held my breath in fear from the time I first held my newborn eldest son and I’m yet to release it. He’s 18 now, his younger siblings 12 and 6 respectively. But they’re worth the worry they bring,” he smiles.

“18? And he’s still choosing the workhouses?” Aiden asks in surprise.

“Sure. He’s still a Juvie. He could be working earning money but we deemed learning to read much more important. If he gets the basics down we’ll pay for a library card so he can keep learning on his own when he presents and outgrows the workhouses. Unlike me, he’ll have the chance to get other jobs than manual labor, mind you,” the man says proudly. Dick’s never been to a library either. To be let in you need a library card. And to get one you need both a permanent address and to pay a one-time fee. For most of his life Dick hadn’t had a stable address even if he could have saved up the money for the fee with relative ease.

“Glad to hear it,” Aiden says, turning up the watt on his smile. He rubs his neck to get secretion on it and offers the man his hand. “Aiden Williams of the Long Island Williamses,” he introduces himself.

“Seth Rhodes,” the man says, shaking his hand then sniffing his hand afterward, suddenly looking insecure. “ _The_ Long Island Williamses?”

“That’s us,” Dick says with a pleasant smile. “And this here is Jason Williams. He’s leading our anti-slavery taskforce. We’re at work eradicating slavery and snatching and he’s the one making it happen.”

Seth grabs Jay’s hand and shakes it with earnest gratitude. “Thank you. Thank you. That means so much to me. I always worry when the kits are out playing. Thank you.”

Jason’s flustered. “Don’t thank me. It’s Dick who gave me the opportunity,” he says with an almost awkward smile, gesturing towards Dick with his head, “he’s our Main.”

Seth’s eyes go round. “You’re Don Roman?”

Dick flares and teeths his canines. “Please. Call me Dick. I grew up as an orphan on these streets. I knew many were in desperate need of food and housing, like I was. Now I’m here to find out what else the people need. Thank you for telling me about the museums. I’ll see what I can do to make culture accessible to everyone.”

“Thank you, Sir. I don’t have words to describe what you’ve done for my family since you came to power. I never could’ve imagined…” After a few minutes of gushing Seth has to go back to his work and they leave him, continuing on their quest. It doesn’t take long for them to work out a routine, stopping to talk to random people. If Dick or Aiden aren’t recognized they talk for a bit before introducing themselves so Dick can get to know what they’re thinking on a more equal level. He makes sure to introduce Jay as the leader of the anti-slavery taskforce to put him in a good light. Sometimes they’re recognized by people who want to shake Dick’s hand and say thank you. They all call him Don Roman. After correcting them they call him Don Dick Roman to Dick’s annoyance. That’s what he gets for letting the mercs spread the word about him. Arvid needs to get his ass whooped.

If he stops someone to talk and they don’t seem to understand him, he switches to a language they comprehend. He finds the talks where he isn’t immediately recognized the most fruitful. What he’s most interested to know is what people will spend their money on since generally speaking most seem to suddenly be able to put some aside for selfish indulgences. One mom is saving to be able to buy medicine for her daughter, another parent hopes there will be more workhouses opening because they haven’t been able to find their kit a free space at a workhouse so she can learn to read. The most startling wish Dick hears someone express is a wish for flowers on the streets.

Overall, they’re greeted like heroes. After the first couple of awkward encounters, Jason basks in it. Dick takes pleasure in that to distract himself from the discomfort he feels at all the overly grateful submissiveness he’s met with.

They take the opportunity to visit a few of their projects before they finally head home.

* * *

Aiden's quiet and withdrawn all evening. Dick wants to ask why but puts it on his to-do list because Laurent’s happy and seductive and it was too long since they had a proper evening one-on-one. When Mar, and then later, Jed, try to join them Dick shoos them off, declaring he’s having a date night. That makes Mar look put upon while Jed leaves them with a warm smile and a wish for them to have fun.

Laurent’s inexorably happy, uncharacteristically talking a mile a minute, unintentionally informing Dick of the current state of the pack, but in a much more pleasant way than the status reports Dick’s become used to hearing. It’s all “...then we did… and she said… he was blushing like a fool… laughing our butts off…”, a steady stream of anecdotes from someone simply retelling his days rather than trying to analyze his experiences according to measures needed to be taken. It’s refreshing and makes Dick feel more in touch with his steadily growing pack. Laurent’s friendly nature and ultra-social personality give Dick a view into all circles of the pack, not just the higher ranks. 

They’ve sought privacy high up in an old maple tree behind the stables. Dick had more trouble climbing it than he’s comfortable admitting, and his belly isn’t _that_ big yet. But he and Laurent both feel very comfortable from their hidden vantage point. If Dick’s room had rafters he’d probably climb up there to nap. There’s just something safe and calming about it. It’s getting late, but the activity on their grounds hasn’t lessened much. There are more horses grazing in the pasture than Dick remembers, and the woods are full of mercenary tents in full camouflage. The wall is manned by mercs or Williamses these days, but Hales are still welcome visitors. Behind the mansion, in the garden closest to the house, something’s being dug. Something large. “Is that a pool being built?” he asks.

Laurent grins at him from his resting place two branches above Dick. “It is.”

“Did I authorize it?”

Laurent’s grin falters. “You don’t want us to build it?”

Dick chuckles. “Sure I do, dear. I’m just not always certain what my duties are. Sometimes papers are put in front of me to sign and I hand them over to someone else, mostly Aid or Marcel, to read and tell me if it’s something I want to protest or change.”

Laurent chuckles. “Okay. You got me worried there for a bit. Jed authorized it. Me and a couple of others have been going specifically to him to ask if we could borrow cars to go swimming, and we’ve also made remarks about how nice it would be to have a pool when he was around to hear it. We discussed it at the latest pack-meeting and―”

“Pack-meeting? I don’t recall any recent pack meetings?”

“Just one of our informal bi-weekly meetings. We have them when you high-rankers are busy with your own crap, and then Jane brings important issues to you if needed. It’s nothing special. Mostly resolving small squabbles, hashing out work-schedules, and deciding on repairs, stuff like that,” Laurent explains. “We’ve talked about having them weekly in smaller groups like we did in the Hales, now that the pack’s getting so big. Jane and I will be present at all meetings, though. To make sure the pack remains unified. Then we’d have a monthly or bi-monthly pack meeting for the full pack.”

“Oh dear. Why don’t I know about this? Shouldn’t I be present?” Dick frets. He’s been so tired lately. The idea of adding yet another duty makes him want to scream, but pack meetings sound important.

Laurent chuckles, his dark eyes sparkling warmly as he meets Dick’s gaze fondly. “Do you really need to be there to listen to a 15-minute argument about whose responsibility it is to water the petunias by the entrance? Trust me, when you need to be there you will be.”

Dick huffs, offers him a smile, and tips his head to the side where he’s lying on his back on a thick branch, to look at the horses in the pasture, nothing but dark silhouettes in the dusk. The Russian pack Mar invited to live on their estate until their safety could be ensured on the land he’d granted them earlier at some point, had brought a bunch of horses that stand out amongst the Williamses’ war mounts. They’re small, rugged, and hardy, with tiger stripes on their legs, darker heads, and two-colored manes and tails. Dick finds them charming and cute, while in reality, they’re every inch the same caliber war-mounts as the bigger horses they share the pasture with. A week ago Sean had taken him to the stables to pick out a horse of his own. Not that Dick wants one or has any interest in learning how to ride, but Sean meant that it looks impressive to people. He’d suggested two horses he thought would fit Dick. One was black as the night sky, the other one a dappled gray, both having long wavy manes. Sean said one was a Friesian and the other Andalusian. That told Dick exactly _nothing_. If they’re going to force a mount on him, it’s going to be one of those scruffy, beige and dirt-grey ponies. Sean was displeased and Dick, luckily, still doesn’t have a horse.

“So…” Laurent says, dangling an arm, getting a teasing edge to his smile. “Rumor has it you and Big Jay are finally getting it on, on a regular basis…”

Dick looks up at him. “ _Finally_? I take it you’re not jealous?”

Laurent chuckles. “Of course not. Why would I be jealous?”

Dick smiles wanly before sighing. “Because I’m spending more time with him than you.”

“Your job demands it,” Laurent says easily. “And I get to sleep beside you several times a week. I see you every day. I don’t see a problem. You love his knot, don’t you? When I walked in on you two, he looked like he’d found a god and you were going cross-eyed. Both of you were stinking up the room with bliss in its purest form. I was so happy for you I danced my way back to my room.” He huffs and grins. “Or, back to Jenny’s room, if we’re gonna be specific,” he corrects with a dark chuckle.

Dick sniggers. Laurent will happily have sex with anyone who’ll let him, especially Os. That’s never even remotely bothered Dick. He’s also pretty certain that if he’d ask Laurent not to fuck around, he’d stop without any regrets. Dick won’t do that. Laurent’s content purr is a constant backdrop in the household and it delights Dick. “His knot is a damned drug, to be honest. I don’t even think I can blame Lucifer for fucking him.”

“Does that mean I’ll be getting another co-mate soon?” Laurent asks hopefully, like the prospect actually thrills him.

“Oh, dear, _no_ ,” Dick deadpans. “Not if I have a say in things.” He frowns up at Laurent thoughtfully. “Doesn’t it bother you that he used to be a Snatcher?”

“No. Should it?”

Dick gives him a dubious look and shrugs.

Laurent’s smile fades into a serious expression. “Dicky… You know, back in the days, I loved working with Mar. When we went to collect debts from people I already knew wouldn’t be able to pay, I could unleash him. I love him, but he’s got a frightening thirst for violence.”

“Mhm?” Dick asks, wondering what he’s getting at.

Laurent leaves a pregnant pause before he speaks again, his warm-brown eyes flaring blue. “But since my Juvies, I’ve done most of my dirty-work myself. Do you understand what that means?”

“You broke kneecaps and beat people up.”

“I made it sound so easy when I talked about it, didn’t I? I sold drugs, coaxed people to buy what they couldn’t afford. I’m a gifted seller. I’ve convinced a lot of people to buy drugs even if they’d sworn to themselves to never try. I’ve looked at people, knowing I could get them hooked and milk them out of their savings in a year, then I’d come for their souls. I don’t look intimidating, so people would try to defend themselves, lash out…” Laurent pauses to drill his gaze into Dick’s. “When I told you, I made it sound easy so you wouldn’t stop to consider the ‘hows’ of it. So you wouldn’t consider the opposition I faced. Who they were and what they looked like. Will you consider it for a bit? You remember any of my customers? Can you picture them? Picture them and put that in relation to the dark side of my work.”

Laurent’s right. Anytime the topic of Laurent’s other work came up Dick’s mind had shown him the most pitiful, weak opponents. But they weren’t, were they? They were random people who’d run out of money, asked if they could buy drugs on the cuff and then failed to come up with the money on the due date. He knew Laurent hated that part of his job and he knew the Hales had him keep doing it because he was good at it. In Dick’s mind, he’s always pictured the victims tied up to a chair, made defenseless. But Laurent worked these gigs alone more often than not. If they were made defenseless, it’s because he made them thus.

Laurent suddenly leaves his perch, drawing in on himself and pushing off, jumping to a branch below Dick, then to the side. Dick sits up trying to follow where Laurent went, but the next breath Laurent’s swinging himself up behind him, startling him. “There are people out there dreaming nightmares about me, people who will, without exaggeration, crap themselves, if they see my blue flare light up in the shadows. Why would I, out of all people, hold Big Jay’s past against him?” Laurent asks seriously. Then he grins, back to his old self. “I’m so happy I don’t have to do that crap anymore. I’ve got the best job anyone could have, making sure everyone feels welcome at home. And thanks to your order to make things personal for the mercs, I get to make new friends knowing I won’t have to corner them alone and turn myself into their worst nightmare.” He scoots close, his chest warm against Dick’s back, their legs dangling, straddling the thick branch, and puts his hands on Dick’s belly. “And now I’m gonna be a dad. Life can’t get better.”

Dick smiles. "I'm happy you're happy, dear."

Laurent nuzzles him. "You ever need me to be someone's nightmare again, just say the word. I'll do anything for you. Though I'm only a nightmare one-on-one. Multiple opponents stress me out. Then you're better off using Jed or someone of his close kin."

Dick's smile freezes for a beat as the penny drops. "You could take him in a fight, couldn't you?"

Laurent pulls his hands back and holds his palms up with a nervous laugh. "Okay, whoa there, stop. I'm not fighting Jed."

Dick giggles and twists so he can see Laurent's face. "Oh dear. That didn't even occur to me. Marcel's been teasing me that someone in the pack is a better fighter than Jed but won't tell me who."

Laurent grins. "It would be hubris to claim I'm a better fighter than him, and you know I'm not inclined to self-celebration. Please don't force me to find out the answer."

"Has Marcel ever seen you in action?"

"Mhm. But that was a Bolton-Hale political incident and I'm not allowed to talk about it."

"Fair enough. Have you ever been to a museum?" Dick asks to change the subject.

"No?"

"Would you like to accompany me? Today someone said they look forward to when the museums reopen so they could take their kits. So on the way home today we decided to do a tour of the city's museums to decide in what order to open them."

Laurent wraps his arms around Dick again and puts his head on Dick's shoulder. "I'd love to. Can Mal come too?”

“Naturally, dear.” 

Laurent chirps. “I'm so happy she fell in love with an older guy who wanted them to get to know each other properly before they got mated. Frederick's great to her. Have you noticed that her scent is changing? She smells, I don't know… calmer and more content, I think."

Dick _has_ noticed that. Her base scent is changing in a way that’s making her even more beautiful. Dick had chalked it up to pregnancy, but maybe those two aren’t connected? Maybe it has more to do with the long-term happiness she’s experiencing. Aiden’s not as apprehensive around her anymore. Dick had thought that was the pack bond at work, but it might simply be because Mal’s not unstable anymore. Maybe long-term emotional issues or a lack thereof, changes a scent fundamentally? He vows to ask Marc― 

_The woman blocks his way when he turns a corner. He could have smelled her in advance if he hadn't been stuck with his head in the clouds, thinking of Peter who left him this morning. He has the usual work route he walks if nobody's booked him in advance, stopping to chat with business owners and other people, checking if they've heard anyone in need of his service. Often as not he's approached by people asking ‘Excuse me, are you the reader?’_

_That's not this woman's motive and he knows it. He smiles pleasantly and nods a greeting. “Malicia.”_

_He smells somebody behind him and turns his head, trying to hide his fear and nerves behind his smile. He can smell the close relation to Peter on the man blocking the alley behind him, more closely related than the woman in front. The man reeks of pain one can’t see from how he moves. He’s maybe double Peter’s age. “Ah. The father, I presume? You must pardon me, Sir, Peter hasn’t told me your name.”_

_The man flares the same brilliant blue as Peter. It’s strange how both Peter’s father, presumably the Patriarch, and Malicia have scents close to Peter’s but only one of them smells good to him. Aside from the pain, the Patriarch smells wonderful,_ almost _as good as Peter himself. But Malicia’s scent makes him want to curl his nose in disgust._

“ **DICKY!** ”

Dick blinks in confusion to find that Laurent’s climbed around him, sitting with his legs over Dick’s thighs, feet hooked together under the branch to lock them in place, one arm around Dick and the other cupping Dick’s cheek as he’s staring into Dick’s eyes with brightly-flared, worried eyes. “Sorry, dear, I zoned out there for a bit,” Dick says with a placating smile, trying to hide how his heart is hammering with fright and confusion.

“No joke! You scared the living crap out of me. What the heck happened?” Laurent asks, smelling of fear and relief.

Dick shakes his head. He doesn’t want to explain the intrusive thoughts depicting another life as vividly as if it was real. Instead, he asks, “Do you and Mal still feel the compulsion to be with each other?”

It’s Laurent’s time to blink in confusion for a beat before huffing an awkward laugh, looking away rubbing his neck self-consciously. “Yes. Sometimes I want to knot her more than I want to knot you. It’s no problem. I’ve got enough self-discipline for the both of us. But I did have to fight her dad last time he popped by. Those two have no impulse control and he has a penchant to pretend things he’s ashamed of don't exist. I can’t imagine how badly Mal would take it if they gave in to temptation and he suddenly treated her like air afterwards.”

“Would the compulsion go away if you gave into it?”

Laurent laughs then looks at him with dry amusement. “I don’t know, did your compulsion to sleep with Jed go away once you’d done it?”

Dick smiles and bends his head with a slow headshake. The older Malicia in his intrusive fantasy-memory had been double his age and smelt fully like a Hale. It’s what she’d become if she stuck around. “You experience rejection depression?” he asks.

Laurent shrugs and leans their foreheads together. “A little. But don’t worry. Both of us have mates we’re madly in love with, and both of us are doing things we enjoy. She’s chirping to me daily about the new things the doctor’s taught her. These things counter the sense of rejection that comes with resisting. It’s not like we’re resisting the compulsion to be with a pack leader. We’re fine.” Dick looks up to see Laurent suddenly grin impishly at him. “You want to know what I think?” Laurent says, lowering his voice like he’s divulging a secret. “If you manage to keep the Demon’s Lot around long enough, Mal will end up with a second mate. She and Doc, they click. I see how they look at each other. Right now they’re in a very serious teacher-student type of relationship, but once Frederick and she are firmly settled with each other and Doc deems Mal fully taught or if she’s sent to learn from another teacher, you’ll see. She and the Doc?” he waggles his eyebrows meaningfully.

Dick finds himself grinning back, vowing to make sure the Demon’s Lot sticks around. Despite it all, he can’t really shake the unpleasant feeling of having seen what Mal could have become if she’d gone back to the Hales, and if she and Laurent had somehow become the Main and Patriarch while Laurent still refused to give into the compulsion. The idea makes him nauseous, and he thanks Donarrion it never came to pass…

* * *


	32. Politico

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick goes to museums for the first time and gets inspired by the things he learns. It seems like everywhere he goes there's something he can turn into political dynamite.

* * *

Museums are a strange pastime that Dick has mixed feelings about. Art galleries aren’t exactly his thing. Aleksandr, Jason, and Sean seem to take great pleasure out of visiting them. And the history nerd in Mar acts up when looking at old art, but Dick has trouble seeing art as anything other than something to hang on the walls to make them less drab.

They visit a historical museum which is a lot more interesting. Dick gets stuck staring at a painting from the Yellow Ribbon War. Yellow streamers hang from every balcony and window, are tied to lampposts and the harnesses of horses. People have yellow ribbons attached to their clothes.

“What do the yellow ribbons signify?” Dick asks Mar when Mar―happy as a kit in a candy shop―wanders up to join him.

“It meant, ‘bring our soldiers home.’ Or ‘bring our families back together,’ if you will. It was a silent protest movement when the government forced other drafted soldiers and us to keep pursuing the intruders after the Talmayan war was won. Did you know our pack actually ceased to exist for three years back then?”

“Phillip was alive when this went down. He’s always been a part of this pack,” Dick points out then laughs at how Marlon’s face goes blank.

“You’re right. But our chronicles don’t mention that. We need to rectify that. I always wondered how we managed to keep our estate," Mar mutters, smelling annoyed.

Dick gets thoughtful. "If your pack didn't exist for three years, how is your bloodline still intact?"

"Wandering Os returned home. Our last remaining O temporarily joined another pack. As you surmised, she wasn't related to us. She got mated to three Alphas and broke off to return to the estate to re-establish our territory. At the same time, the rumor spread that all of us had died in the war. Young Williams Os, who'd wandered but not settled in a pack, started returning. We also had some influx of Alphas following their dreams of joining their Williams' mother or grandmother's birth-pack, seeking us out to join. My bloodline has an innate restlessness that's led even Alphas to wander or, at the very least, travel far and wide. Mostly we've had the hunger sated through war, but not always. These Alphas, offspring to my forefathers, were drawn to Long Island out of curiosity sparked by their mothers' stories, and, I suppose, a desire to re-establish the glory of our pack."

Dick hums thoughtfully, looking at the painting.

"We were once a pack of 26 bachelor Os,” Mar goes on, “That's particularly interesting to me. You see, 11 of us were Juvies that presented as Os. But with only Os in the pack, the wanderlust never―"

"Would you say the yellow ribbon protest was a victory for the people?" Dick interrupts, lest he gets the whole history of the Williams pack in great detail.

"Yes? The government gave in and called the soldiers home," Mar answers, raising an eyebrow in question, smelling slightly annoyed at the interruption.

A smile grows on Dick's face. He turns to face Mar and pulls him in for a quick kiss. “Brilliant. Thank you, love. That’s what we’ll do.” He turns his head to yell to one of the mercs with them. The merc is currently in an administrative role and was brought along just for instances like this. “Can we get this place ready to reopen by next Wednesday?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“I want a special exhibit about the Talmayan War, with a focus on the significance of the yellow ribbons and how they symbolize the people winning over a corrupt government who sent their mates away to die, and how the yellow ribbons were symbolic across all designations. I want any significance of Conservatives downplayed, their designations to go unmentioned if they’re somehow the heroes―”

“I don’t think history played out exactly like you’re trying to make it sound,” Mar points out with a fond, bordering on condescending, smile.

Dick waves his hand dismissively. “I’m not interested in history, dear, this is about politics. If you want accuracy, I’m sure you can choose to focus on certain people and still make it look like I want it to. In fact, I think I’d like you to spearhead this particular task. We need a historian. I’ve been searching for a symbol, something to set us apart from the Aristocrats but still paint us as Americans without costing a fortune or giving us an air of otherness as new, different uniforms would do. I want a symbol that’s easily removed for our troops if they’re trying to be incognito, a flag that can fly under the American flag, not replace it. _This_ ,” he points at the painting, “is what I want. A symbol with a history connected to victory and unity. People wearing ribbons in the streets as if it was their idea, not a plant of ours, no matter what designation they are. This is a symbol of wanting your family restored, your love back by your side. Something universal. I’m sure you can twist history into what we want. And make it personal. You’re good at that.”

Marlon’s started to smell excited. “It wouldn’t be the first time someone tweaked history. I’ll make it happen.”

“Good.” Dick looks between the merc and Mar. “Is there any way to make this interesting for kits?”

“Sure, no problem,” Mar says. “I can write one or two kits stories that we’ll have a storyteller read. And we’ll make interactive displays. Maybe we can have a station where they can make braid-bracelets from yellow string or ribbons. We can have photo booths where you stick your head into a hole to look like whatever was painted there, like a soldier from that time, or as if they’re wearing the fashion from back then. I’ll see what I can come up with,” Mar answers.

“Great. Do we have mercs undercover as civilians in the city?”

The merc smirks. “You betcha, Sir.”

“Delightful. Then they’ll be the first ones to suddenly get the idea to repeat history. I want the opening day to be free admittance. We’ll sell cheap yellow ribbons in the gift shop. It might be the only keepsake some visitors can afford.”

“Isn’t it better to have the grand opening on a Saturday? Then more people can come to see it,” Mar suggests.

“That’s where you’re wrong, dearheart. More _rich_ people can come to see it on Saturday. You’re the ones who’ve got weekends off. Most poor people are busy working during weekends to serve you, and if they can afford to take a day or two off with their family, they do so between Monday and Thursday. I want to reach the largest part of the population, and it’s not the ones you find at the Ritz. Besides, I promised Seth Rhodes to see what I could do about re-opening the museums.”

“Seth, who?” Mar asks.

“Exactly, dear,” Dick says and bops him on the nose. “And that’s the point.”

* * *

The museum of Natural History brings them a surprise in the form of a conservator who’s been living in the museum since the draft order and the closing of the venue. She’s very passionate and has been apprenticing here since she was an orphaned kit and the people working here realized she saved all her money for entrance fees, skipping meals, and other necessities. Dick finds it funny that a museum as an institution decided to adopt an orphan. It brings the bonus of giving them an opportunity for a guided tour.

For this museum visit, Mal, Laurent, Mar, Sean, Marcel, Commander Aleksandr, and Arvid accompany Dick, not counting the mercs guarding outside. Dick’s not sure why Aleksandr has come along. Dick hadn’t invited him per se. But lately, the Demon’s Lot had become something akin to his personal guard. Aleksandr undoubtedly is the Mercenary Commander who’d lost the most soldiers to a Williams pack bond, and Arvid, although still unmated, is part of Dick’s close family, whether he wants it or not. So maybe it makes sense. 

It doesn’t take long for Dick to figure out this isn’t his venue. Their guide is knowledgeable, taking them through sections with butterflies, rocks, dinosaur skeletons, stuffed animals and birds. Mal and Laurent, along with Mar and Sean, walk at the front, eyes alight and interested. But Dick finds himself falling back to walk with Arvid, Aleksandr, and Marcel. Marcel _does_ seem interested. He veers off to read plaques, to study this or that then either hum thoughtfully or snort disdainfully. But Dick’s bored. “Oh dear,” he complains hushedly as he leans closer to watch a stuffed bird of paradise. “Why on earth would anyone go to a museum to look at dried food?”

Aleksandr barks a startled, booming laugh and grins with teethed canines at Dick, purring approvingly. He notices that the front of their group, including their guide, have fallen quiet to look at them judgingly, and holds up his hands, palms out with an “ _Eyy_.”

“You guys go ahead. We’ll just stroll around by ourselves, if you don’t mind,” Dick excuses with a shooing motion.

They remain standing when the guide moves on with Mar, Sean, Mal, and Laurent. “I always go to museum of natural history if I’m in big city and have much time,” Aleksandr tells them.

“You do? Why?” Arvid asks, looking genuinely surprised. 

“I go to see that.” He points to a sign that’s leading to the second level by the stairs. ‘The History of Humanity,’ it says.

“You’d seek that out voluntarily?” Marcel asks and gives him a dubious look. “Mila shunned it like the plague. If she could’ve burned it, she would.”

“Why? What’s up there?” Arvid asks, suddenly excited.

“Let’s go find out,” Dick decides and sets off towards the curved stone stairs. Arvid doesn’t stick by his side once they get to the next floor. He goes sniffing after whatever Aleksandr was talking about, and Aleksandr wanders off too. Marcel is the only one who chooses to stroll along with him, keeping a side-eye on him as much as watching the exhibits.

The first exhibit here makes Dick a bit uncomfortable. It’s a stuffed wolfcat and her kit. The plaque underneath tells him wolfcats are where modern humans first came from. He doesn’t linger, and subconsciously puts a protective hand over his baby-bump while moving along. The next exhibit is a model of primitive humans dressed in animal hides, stalking a deer with spears. With each exhibit, the humans evolve, getting more advanced with tools and clothing. He’s starting to see why this might actually interest anyone. Maybe they should get 3D models like this in the history museum too? He hadn’t seen any, and this looks like a perfect way to present history more personally.

Suddenly Arvid jokingly calls out, “Hey, look! It’s my uncle,” and laughs.

Dick looks that way and sees a sign saying “Human Predecessors” then spots Arvid. He’s climbed over the rope into an exhibit and thrown his arm over the shoulders of a… something human-shaped, wolf colored. Dick’s heartbeat speeds up. 

He sets off towards Arvid, who’s laughing, pelting and shifting, trying to make himself look more like the abomination he's standing beside. It _looks_ like a pelted human. If the one who made the model had never seen a pelted human, that is. Or a human, period.

Arvid’s still sniggering, booping the wooden nose. “Hoo boy, what did they do to your face?” he asks the life-sized doll. He holds out his hand beside the abomination’s hand and laughs. “You can tell whoever made this one’s never seen my kind before. Just look at the claws!”

Dick climbs over the rope to inspect, nose working overtime with a sense of dread building in his gut. He smells old wood and clay and metal. The stuffing’s made with woodchippings mostly, some of it very old, some newer from repairs, but the pelt… the pelt…

“Not your kind, Mongrel,” Aleksandr says. He’s stood looking at the exhibit 20 feet away.

Dick looks at the straighter, blunted claws on Arvid’s hand and compares them to the long, wickedly curved wooden claws of the model, then puts his nose into its thick fur, inhaling deeply to confirm what his mind refuses to accept. He’s starting to get clammy, sweat forming at the back of his neck.

“Aw, come on, Commander. You’re just jealous they messed up yours even more,” Arvid answers teasingly.

Dick turns to look where Aleksandr’s standing, seeing the Siberian so-called replica. Almost as if he’s in a trance, he steps out of the Nordic Scand exhibit and goes towards the Siberian display, tuning out the banter between Aleksandr and Arvid. He’s only dimly aware that Marcel’s suddenly purring soothingly at him.

The Siberian model is shorter than Aleksandr but still tall compared to the average human. It’s posed as if it’s ready to attack, arms up with fingers curved and clawed. Its hands don’t look like Aleksandr’s paws, more like monkey hands, and the claws are identical to the Nordic Scand’s, long and curved, but instead of being too long and sharp as on the Scand, they’re too thin and small compared to the razor-sharp sickles of Aleksandr. Its fur is gorgeous, white, with black markings and dustings of bluish grey, but its face… the model’s face is macabre. Its shifted face has fangs identical to Alexandr’s, maw open wide to show the four long canines in the upper and lower jaw, but no snake-fangs. Supposedly, its face is shifted, not just pelted. It’s hideous and contorted as if the artist had tried to make it look frightening and had no clue what it should look like. Its eyes are cleverly lit up from the inside, making the glass iris shine yellow, and the bloodshot eye-whites gleam realistically―another proof the artist didn’t know what he was doing. Its ears look like furry human ears. They’re crafted from another type of fur―rabbit, Dick thinks―looking nothing like the expressive ears he’d seen on Aleksandr when the two of them fought over Arvid by the white-water river.

Marcel grabs Dick’s wrist when Dick steps over the rope divider. Dick yanks himself free and goes up to the model to sniff it. He knows his companions are talking, possibly to him, but he’s not listening. His heart hammers so hard it hurts in his chest. He’s nauseous, breath coming in rapid, shallow puffs, his skin cold. He puts his nose against the fur, getting the same information as he did about the Scand. These furs are too old to catch individual scents, but they smell like pelted humans. Worse, this model smells something the Scand hadn’t. Aside from wood, metal, and clay, Dick can smell bone. He reaches up to touch the long fangs to feeling the smooth surface of teeth. Real teeth. The model’s built around a _real_ skeleton. Marcel grabs his wrist, asking, "Dick, are you alright?" with concern. Dick barely hears him. His head is spinning. He thinks he might throw up, sweat running along his spine, dotting his throat, making hair stick to his forehead. Memories in a rapid-fire reel flash in his head; being stabbed, chased for having fur. Imagination expands the visions; getting murdered, flayed, stuffed, and displayed, made into a grotesque caricature of his former self. 

" ** _STOP! DON'T TOUCH THE DISPLAYS!_** " A voice penetrates Dick's nightmarish visions. In a trance, he turns around to see the guide come running, Mar, Sean, Mal, and Laurent just coming up the stairs. "Don't touch anything! It might break!" the guide calls out again.

The dread inside Dick is with sudden intensity traded for fury. Marcel lets go of him, sneezing. Aleksandr takes a half-step back, also sneezing, but Dick doesn't pay them any heed. Color is fading from his vision, leaving only blues, greens, greys, and yellows. Details get sharper in front of him and blur to the sides. He's barely aware of shifting, claws growing, pelt growing, fangs dropping, and teeth turning needle-sharp as he speeds up, running to meet her.

Her eyes widen with horror. She stops dead, eyes flaring low luminance yellow, and turns her head down to the side, licking her lips submissively. She makes a sound, a low rumbling of compliance, saying ‘ _I'm not a threat. I submit to you. I wish no harm. I pose no challenge.’_

Dick's too furious to care. She's the only prey in here that's edible. She wants to stuff him and put him on display, preferably with his newborn kit, made grotesque for future generations to gawk at. Why should he care for her submission?

He's nearly on her when Aleksandr steps in between them, arms outstretched at his sides protectively, palms facing backward showing he's only protecting the conservator, not looking to fight. He's rumbling a low-frequency sound that means something like ’ _I'm with you, but I will stop you_ ’.

He's gorgeous. Eyes enlarged to fit the shifted form of his head, thick fur tinted dark pink by Dick's intense flare, tufted ears slicked back, and large fangs reflecting red.

Dick roars in his face.

Aleksandr roars right back, flaring bright white like moons in his black scleras. 

Marlon comes between Dick and Aleksandr to protect Dick. Dick shoves him out of the way, dropping into a fighting stance. The guide's scent, before saturated with fear, is suddenly overtaken by excitement and joy. Dick's gaze flicks to her. Aleksandr mostly hides her, but Dick can see her touching Aleksandr's paw reverently, looking close to tears from joy. Dick wants her dead, growling murder.

Arvid steps between them with a grin, smelling anxious. "Fellas, _fellas_. Let's not do this. We’re all friends here, right?"

Dick repeats his growled threat threat of murder. "They've _stuffed HUMANS!_ I want her _dead!_ "

Aleksandr shakes his tiger-like head. "No. You don't want that. Aristocrat want you want that. This," he grabs the guide and pulls her in front of himself, "little Omega is curious, yeah? But no adventure in her legs so she believes what bad men write in book. They say my kind is monster, long dead. She believes that. But she sees me, and, look at her, she's not enemy. She believes eyes more than bad words in book, yeah?"

Dick's gaze goes back to the woman. She's not paying attention to him. She's looking up at Aleksandr with awe in her eyes, smiling, hand hovering by his face just short of touching the long whiskers. She’d been afraid of Dick attacking, but now she looks like she could die happy, prioritizing gawking at the Siberian over her own life.

Sean touches Dick's arm gently. Everyone but the guide is purring soothingly, trying to get Dick to calm down. They're looking worried at him, except for Mar, who’s focused on Aleksandr with cold, angry eyes.

Dick takes a few deep breaths. Aleksandr's right. The poor conservator isn't the one who killed the two stuffed humans; she isn’t the taxidermist who stuffed them. They’re too old for that. She's not the one that stabbed Dick, wasn’t there to gang up on him when he pelted publicly. She's not looking at Aleksandr's shifted form with fear and disgust, but with unbridled happiness. Dick tries to calm himself, blaming Lucifer for the fear-induced rage. He reaches out to touch the guide's shoulder to get her attention. Aleksandr briefly shows his teeth at Dick in warning and Marlon responds by growling. The guide turns to look at Dick with wide eyes. "Those two have been separated from their packs long enough. I want them burned at the Pyre,” Dick says tightly and points at the two stuffed models.

“What?” the guide asks in confusion, then, “Yes! Yes, of course! I didn’t know― I couldn’t imagine―” she turns back to stare at Aleksandr again. “You’re so beautiful…” This time when she reaches up to his face, she touches his cheek gently and he tilts his head slightly to let her do it, with an air of being pleased despite not changing his expression much. (Fuck Alphas and their overgrown egos.) She turns her head in Arvid’s direction. “And you! It’s such a miracle. Two species thought extinct for centuries, and here you are!” she marvels.

Arvid sniggers. “You Americans are so funny. _You_ think we went extinct. I can’t figure out how you came to that conclusion. We’re in the majority in all of Scandinavia, sweetheart. ”

Dick can very much imagine how. One so-called scientist writing to a scientist in Sweden, Norway, or Finland, saying, ‘Hi. Our stuffed Nordic Scand is starting to look a bit worse for the wear. Since the Scand used to roam free in your country, we figured you must have lots of pelts and old skulls lying around, so why don’t you be a jolly fellow and send a bunch over to our taxidermy department, will ya?’ And the Scand reading the letter answering, ‘Wow, no, sorry, but the Nordic Scand has been dead for 500 years and the Scand-eating moth larvae I just made up ate all the remains. We can barely scrape together five specimens between us in all of Scandinavia, so, you know, whoopsie? No can do.’ With the American government’s hostile attitude towards shifting, nations of shifters would very likely be adamant about keeping America ignorant. Looking at Aleksandr now, he looks like he’s only one step away from an animal who stood up and started shifting. He smells of pain brought on from shifting so fast, but it’s quickly receding while the sun-warm-piney scent grows more potent. It makes Dick realize why the wolfcat display made him so uncomfortable. Wolfcats look far too much like shifted humans. “I want the wolfcats burned too,” Dick declares.

Aleksandr shoves the guide behind him again. “No. Is no good. Wolfcat don’t go to the beyond by fire like you do. They’re with pack already. People want to see wolfcat. But put wolfcat in zoo it loses scent and die. Better show already dead ones, yeah?”

Dick’s already strained temper flares again. He barely keeps himself from roaring at the defiant merc. But Aleksandr has a point. (Again. Damn him.) If there’s anything one wants to see in reality, it’s a wolfcat, and wolfcats don’t burn their dead. Dick’s boiling inside. He needs to do something. _Anything_. Issue one fucking order that the pompous merc doesn’t rebel against. “Okay, the wolfcat stays. But I hope your men are brave. Because from now on, I want at least five percent of everyone on active duty to be shifted. That goes everywhere, no matter the assignment.”

“You’ll be risking their lives unnecessarily,” Laurent says, speaking up for the first time.

“ _THAT’S THE FUCKING POINT!_ ” Dick roars. “If we don’t normalize shifting again, in hundred years it’ll be us up there!” He points angrily at the stuffed Siberian, looking around to meet the gaze of every one of his companions. "You hear? That will be us! So from now on, no more hiding!”

“Yes. Is good,” Aleksandr says with a pleased purr.

To be agreed with by the one he's trying to punish makes Dick grit his teeth. It doesn't matter as long as Aleksandr complies. Instead, Dick directs himself to the guide, asking her if she knows anything about taxidermy. She does. It's part of her job description. So he tells her he wants her to redo the whole human history exhibition using other animals' fur to include pelted humans.

Once she's agreed, Dick continues to look around, going by himself this time to settle his temper. The pain of shifting too much too quickly is catching up with him once he’s calm again. After about 40 minutes, he decides to go in search of his companions, wanting to go home. 

Stone columns line the great hall on the first floor. It creates nooks where you can have privacy, so when Dick hears voices, he doesn’t see where they’re coming from.

“Why’s the pretty little Alpha boy angry at me? I wouldn’t hurt his mate. I protect his mate and his mate’s politics both, you get what I’m sayin’? He kill the guide makes for bad politics, yeah?” That’s Aleksandr talking. Dick heads in the direction from where he can hear the voice. His footfalls are muted by the long carpet ushering the way through exhibits.

“Darn it, Commander Chaadayev, how many times do I need to tell you, _I’m not a boy_.” That’s Marlon’s pissed-off voice. Dick hides his scent and beelines for a column, hoping to catch sight of them without getting seen.

“Fair enough. But so very pretty,” Aleksandr purrs. His pitch changes to something amused and playful. “And little. Only so high,” he says. Dick peeks out from behind the column to spot the pair further away. Aleksandr’s smiling, holding up his hand at Mar’s approximate height, erring to the smaller size. Anyone is ‘little’ compared to Aleksandr. Mar’s got his back to Dick so Dick can’t see his face, but everything about him is rigid with anger.

Suddenly, Mar lashes out with claws at the Siberian.

Aleksandr’s response is so fast Dick barely follows the move. One blink and Mar’s spun around and slammed back against the wall, Aleksandr’s wicked claws holding him by his throat. Mar makes a sound of capitulation, licking his lips.

Dick dives back and silently hurries towards them at an angle where he’ll be hidden, breath caught in his throat. He can’t take out the Siberian without getting the drop on him. He needs to save his mate. Can’t let Aleksandr hurt him.

“So angry, pretty Alpha boy,” Aleksandr purrs.

“Call me boy one more time and I’ll make you regret it, _merc_ ,” Mar says tightly.

Aleksandr chuckles. “It’s Commander merc, yeah?” Dick hears Mar gasp, then Aleksandr’s voice follows in a low purr. “I know you want to know a real man. I can smell your lust for me.”

“Stop it. You’ll never get to poke me, Commander,” Mar growls.

“Boys put pride where their knots go. A real man knows that pride is where pleasure is for both, if you get what I’m sayin’?”

Dick’s finally within scenting range and what he smells makes him slow down uncertainly. He can smell Mar’s anger, but there are no scents of fear and true aggression. Mar’s anger is at a level Dick’s so accustomed to; he’s learned to ignore it. Aleksandr smells happy and content. Both of them smell _excited_.

Mar’s voice is raspy. “Nothing will happen between us, Commander. I’m adamantine on this matter.”

Dick can finally see them again. Aleksandr has Mar boxed in against the wall, forearm against the wall beside Mar’s head, a clawless hand gently resting on his chest. Mar’s sunken down partway along the wall, legs splayed wide to accommodate one of Aleksandr’s leg between his. Just looking at Marlon’s defiant face, you might think he’s about to fight his way free, but one of his hands is holding Aleksandr’s hip, and the excitement Dick smells is quickly warping into arousal.

Aleksandr smirks and nuzzles Mar, sniffing playfully from his cheekbone to his throat. A small push of his nose has Mar tilting his head to give Aleksandr access to his throat. “I don’t know this word, adamantine,” Aleksandr purrs and licks at Mar’s gland. “Does it mean…” His hand moves from Mar’s chest to his crotch. “... _hard_?” he finishes the sentence, squeezing Mar’s privates playfully. Mar closes his eyes and tips his head back with a gasp. The hand he’d kept on Aleksandr’s hip moves to grab Aleksandr’s ass. Aleksandr chuckles, purring encouragingly. “Is okay. Pretty little Alpha may touch a real man however he wants.”

Mar growls, but pulls Aleksandr’s head back to his throat, and pushes his hips onto Aleksandr’s leg slotted between his legs to start rutting.

Dick backs away. Despite Mar’s anger, he doesn’t look like an unwilling participant that’s feeling coerced. It’s confusing since Mar only wants to have sex with people he cares for, and to Dick’s knowledge, Aleksandr has rubbed Mar the wrong way from the start. Dick decides Mar doesn’t need saving as breaths get heavier, and the smell of joint arousal overtakes even Mar’s anger.

Dick goes in search of the others, giving the two a moment of privacy.

On the second floor, Sean comes out of a door marked ‘Staff Only.’ He spots Dick and grins. “There you are! I was just about to look for you. Veda showed me something. There are truckloads of stuff depicting or relating to shifting in storage. She thinks it’s the same at any museum. They have to adjust their displays to the people who’re paying, and for decades they’ve been explicitly forbidden to show shifted humans. She thought we should stop by at the museum of history on our way home and check their storages out as well.”

Dick’s got a headache and is exhausted. He’s so tired these days. But he smiles anyway, clip-clip-clipping his scent to hide his depleted state. “A wonderful idea, dear.”

Once they’ve rounded up everyone else, they go downstairs to find Mar and Aleksandr. They’re both sitting at the base of the huge Tyrannosaurus Rex skeleton in the entrance hall, keeping a good six feet between them, Mar glaring at Aleksandr and Aleksandr cleaning his nail as if he doesn’t notice. They’ve washed off the most apparent scent-evidence of their earlier conduct. Dick’s utterly confused but decides not to mention it.

The conservator’s idea to check out the storage at the museum of history was a stroke of genius. There are so many paintings, decorated pottery, textiles, and other things, all depicting shifted and pelted humans. History, as Dick knows it, doesn’t exist. The real history has simply been hidden by displaying only things that depict unshifted humans. Marlon’s ecstatic about an old painting from the 1700s named ‘The Traders and their Protectors’, that, according to him, illustrates Progs and Packrunners working in unison. It depicts a group of shifted and partially pelted humans escorting a group of merchants through the woods. Dick’s too tired to share Mar’s joy. Luckily, Mar stays behind to go through everything since he’s responsible for the re-opening a few days away. If he hadn’t, Dick’s headache might have gotten far worse from his jubilant gushing.

When they come home, Phillip practically dances around, cackling gleefully. When he sees Dick, he pats Dick on the cheek with a huge grin. “They didn’t see _that_ coming! Oh no, they didn’t.” Then he turns and walks away, laughing, saying, “What a time to be alive!”

* * *

The week continues with project inspections, speeches at plazas and parks, talking to commoners on the streets, meetings, and museum visits. Dick does his best to pretend he isn't always tired, angry, and horny. 

They visit the wax cabinet. Dick's utterly delighted by all the realistic wax dolls. So is Jason. "One day I'll be famous enough to get a doll in here," he says, looking at a doll of a famous general.

"Good idea, dear. The new age needs new heroes. We'll make it happen," Dick agrees, starting to plan how he can make Jay famous and use it to their advantage.

Jay snorts and gives him a dubious look. "Hero," he mutters. "I doubt that's something I'll ever be seen as."

"On the contrary, dear. You'll be the hero who frees slaves. Is there any chance you could go by the last name Foster Williams? To emphasize on your tragic start in life? No? A shame," Dick says, then turns to yell, "Sean!"

"Yes, baby?" Sean answers, looking away from inspecting a doll of one of his ancestors. 

"The black horse. The one with long, wavy hair. Has anyone claimed it yet?" Dick asks, gesturing with his hand by his head to mimic the long locks of mane.

"No," Sean answers hopefully.

"Good. It's Jay's now," Dick declares.

"Oh," Sean answers, face falling when he realizes Dick’s not looking to ride it. "Sure. Okay," he says and walks up to Dick and Jay. "I was thinking the bay thoroughbred with a blaze for him, but okay."

Dick shakes his head. "No. The Friesan, was it? We're turning Jay into a hero, so he needs to look the part. I want him to look intimidating and scary, to be known as the villain turned avenger, the savior of kits everywhere—someone who makes slavers quake with fear. I'm thinking, a black form-fitted uniform with gold details and maybe accents in the same pale yellow as the flag we'll have the troops fly. Maybe a symbol that's all his. I'm thinking, perhaps a sea serpent biting its tail on each side of the collar? They'll symbolize his wretched past and how he turned around to get revenge. They'll also look neat, and we can sell replica brooches and belt buckles to his admirers. I'm also thinking kits' books, stories from the point of view of a kit who's kitnapped into slavery that gets saved by him. Maybe comic books too? And thrillers and dramas for the adults. Let's see. What else?" He’s inspired by the fairytales Marlon’s written for Anna. It doesn’t take a big leap to consider a tale about Jay that will hold kits enraptured. 

Marcel comes strolling from behind, leaning in to whisper, "You're micromanaging again," in singsong quietly as he rounds Dick to join the group. 

"No offense, but I doubt anyone will see me as a hero no matter what you make me wear," Jay chuckles.

"On the contrary," Marcel says. "The esteemed Main has a keen mind when it comes to manipulating crowds. It'll work. Especially if we emphasize on your past. For decades those in the public spotlight have tried to hide their dirt and dark sides. You'll come across as genuine. The people who are poor and struggling will identify with you, seeing themselves in the oppression you've faced. At the same time, you'll give them hope and make them feel empowered when stories about your current conquests spread. I think you should make sure to bring a journalist and photographer along when you raid slave dens.”

“Oh, yes, that’ll be perfect,” Dick agrees. He taps a finger to his lips, thinking. “Though you need to work on looking cold and hard. You'll represent the people's anger.”

“I’m cold and hard,” Jay says.

Marcel snorts, and Dick gives Jay a smirk. “I’m sure you are, dear. On the inside. But you’ve been trying come across as likable to get ahead for years. It’s practically a defensive mechanism to you by now. So you’ll practice looking stone cold. That’s how the public will see you in photos in the newspapers, thinking you to be an asshole. And when they meet you, you may smile and be polite like you normally are. That way, they’ll go, ‘but he’s so nice!’ and tell their friends about it as if they’re partial to a piece of inside information, turning something as simple as being decent to strangers into a juicy bit of gossip.”

Jay stares at Dick, lip pulling up skeptically, then stares at Marcel, then at Sean.

Sean holds up his hands defensively and leans backward. “Don’t look at me. I feel like I stepped off the elevator on the fifth floor at HQ instead of the fourth, ending up at the PR department instead of logistics. This is _not_ my wheelhouse.”

Dick hums. “After we’ve turned you into a dark folk-hero, you’ll have something the rest of us won’t. You’ll be practically impossible to kill without sparking outrage amongst the people. And not just _our_ people, but the ones supporting the old government too. If we spin it right, you might be our bridge to the upper-middle-class as well.”

“It’s such a shame you refuse to go under the name Foster,” Marcel muses.

“I agree. Alas, Jay wants to get rid of the name, rather than turn it into a weapon and swing it against those who gave it to him,” Dick laments.

“Hey, whoa. Slow down. I don’t know if I can be a hero. I’ve got to think about this,” Jay protests with an awkward chuckle, starting to smell distressed.

“What’s there to think about? You want to get famous, don’t you?” Dick asks.

“Yes, but―”

“It’ll guarantee you a spot in here,” Marcel points out.

“Yes, but―”

“People will stop you in the street, asking for autographs,” Dick offers.

“They’ll buy photos of you. Omegas will daydream about you, pinning that photo to the walls of their bedrooms to swoon,” Marcel adds.

“You’ll get gifts from strangers. Free food from vendors.” 

“The rich bastards that put you down in college will do anything to befriend you just to have the bragging rights of saying you're a personal friend."

" _Stop_ ," Jay says with another nervous chuckle. "I'll think about it, okay?"

"Will you take the horse?" Dick asks.

"Yes, of course! Have you seen it? He’s gorgeous."

"Will you wear the uniform I give you?"

Jay nods, wide-eyed. "Yeah, I can do that."

"We can work with that," Marcel says to Dick, scrutinizing Jay.

"It's a shame Marlon's so busy. He'd be my first choice of writing the books. Maybe one of those pesky journalists we've always got underfoot?" Dick asks Marcel. 

"I'll see if I can narrow down someone suitable."

"You're manipulating me," Jay accuses, shaking his head.

"Dear me, I certainly hope so," Dick agrees with a playful smirk, hooking his arm under Marcel's elbow to lead him away. Behind him, he can hear Jay talking to Sean.

"Whoever thought it a good idea to put those two together was a fool," Jay says.

"I thought it was you," Sean chuckles.

"I've created a monster," Jay says with a suffering tone. Then, after a brief pause, "Do you think they're right? Will people love me even if they get to know the truth of my past?"

Dick doesn't hear the rest since he and Marcel stray out of range. "You, my delightful friend, have a gift," Marcel purrs. "I regret I didn't realize that through Tony's reports or I would've adopted you into the pack when I had a chance.”

“And I would’ve been slaughtered like the rest of the Boltons,” Dick surmises. “I miss Antoine,” he adds with a little sigh.

“You and me both. Let’s put our mind to something more pleasant, like planning how we’ll turn our bewildered Snatcher into an unwilling folk-hero,” Marcel answers.

* * *

Aside from a few museum visits, Dick hasn’t seen much of Mar since he put him in charge of the history museum's grand opening. Dick wishes Mar would at least sleep with him, until one morning when he comes down to the kitchen, and understands why he doesn’t. Mar's standing by a counter writing, a sandwich, and a cup of coffee beside him. Dick sees him take something small out of his pocket, pop it into his mouth, down half the coffee in one go, and start munching on the sandwich without ever ceasing his writing.

“Good morning, dear. Was that an upper?”

Mar turns around. “It was. Are you going to chastise me for it?”

Dick huffs in amusement. “Hardly. Envy you, perhaps?” he jokes with a small smirk. Except it’s not a joke. By eight o’clock every evening he’s so tired his body aches, yet he’s trying to fit in some one-on-one time with one of his mates or friends after the goodnight fairytale. It’s getting increasingly hard. “But, no. I was wondering why you’re never sleeping with me, but now I know. Do you get any sleep at all?” he asks and wraps his arms around Mar.

“A few hours here and there. Don’t worry, darling, this is my normal,” Mar assures him and lets go of his pen to give Dick his full attention.

Dick gives him an affectionate temple rub. Mar smells of happiness and pain. Dick frowns, scents more carefully to pick up the smell of a scabbed-over injury. He unbuttons Mar’s shit. Marlon’s right shoulder is black and blue, and there’s a bandage on his chest. “Did Aleksandr do this?”

“What? No. Why would he hurt me?” Mar chuckles awkwardly. “I got it in a skirmish with the Aristocrats tonight. Had to get a couple of stitches but it isn’t serious.”

“A skirmish? Here?”

Mar sniggers. “No. I came home yesterday just as one of our companies was leaving, so I decided to come along. Why should they get to have all the fun?" he says with a smile. "We got back about an hour ago.”

Dick tilts his head in concern. “Oh dear. I had no idea. I feel so disconnected from the military side of things,” he complains.

“That’s not a bad thing,” Mar consoles. “You’re surrounded by people who’ve spent the greater part of their lives learning and practicing the art of war. All you do is tell them ‘I want this area conquered and the locals to like us’, and they figure out how to do it, and that’s great. Imagine how much damage you could’ve caused if you tried to tell them _how_ to do it. And in doing so, you free up your time for politics.”

Dick sighs and leans his head on Mar’s unharmed shoulder. “Some days I feel like such a fraud. People treat me like I’m some political prodigy. But in reality, all I do is say things like, ‘house the homeless,’ and then people with more knowledge and skill than me figure out how and make it happen. I’m surrounded by people who are smarter, better educated, and more skilled, but I get all the credit for their work.” Marlon is the one person in the pack who’d supported his political campaign from the start. He’d never had to explain to Mar why he wanted to do what he’s doing. It’s such a relief because with Mar he doesn’t have to pretend he knows what he’s doing.

Marlon wraps his arms around him and leans his chin against Dick. “You _are_ a political sensation, darling. As you so often point out, the rest of us think within the same framework we’ve been working within for centuries. You have us focusing on different goals than we would’ve without you.”

“Keep talking, dearheart, I need to hear this,” Dick admits.

“Well, since you brought it up, let’s take housing for instance. We saw taking down our enemies as our main goal: Killing the lawmakers who betrayed us and returning to how it was before they started targeting Progs and Packrunners. But you saw complete political reform as the objective. Getting rid of the previous lawmakers was just one bullet point of many to you. Finn would’ve loved you.”

Dick chuckles. “I highly doubt it, love. I’m trying to smash what he’s taken decades to build.”

Dick can feel Mar’s smile against his skin. “Fair. But he’d respect you. And I bet the unbiased part of him is full of delight, watching what’s going on over here. Oh, and another example of your genius? Jason. Crafting him into a dark, flawed folk-hero as a political tool. Marcel told me about your plans.”

“He said he wants to be famous. I just thought about how you tell stories and the books I’ve read that have kept me enraptured. It’s not very original. We don’t know if it’ll work out yet or not.”

“I’m certain it will. And the way Marcel told it, Jason said he wanted to be famous enough to get a doll at the wax cabinet. You could just have ordered one made and people who came to the wax cabinet would simply presume he was famous for something. But that’s not you.”

“Jay already struggles more than I do with feeling like a fraud. That’s why I think he needs to believe he earned the doll. That’s also why it’s important we don’t cover up his past, so when people admire him, he knows they do it despite all the bad deeds he’s done.”

Mar hums and rubs their necks together affectionately. “The museum opens tomorrow at 10 AM. Will you be there to give a speech?”

“Naturally, dear.”

* * *

The opening of the museum is a success. While Dick gives his speech he spots Seth Rhodes and his family in the crowd and decides to thank the man publicly for drawing his attention to the need for art and recreation that’s available to everyone. Seth’s beaming with pride at the mention. 

Marlon’s set up a broad yellow ribbon across the doors that Dick gets to cut with a pair of scissors, then he follows along with a guided tour to see what Marlon made of his assignment. It’s quite a difference from Dick’s first visit here. The guides (there are several) are dressed in period costumes from the Talmayan war and are incredible storytellers (Dick finds out later that they’re Broadway actors.) that engage their audience by each display. The tour follows the timeline of the war, displaying a lot of large paintings that weren’t here on Dick’s last visit. To his surprise, most paintings depict several pelted or partially pelted people. Aside from paintings, there are uniforms, weapons, tools, and other things from the era. Mar has also scavenged things from other museums. Dick recognizes some of the life-sized models of humans he’d seen in the Museum of Natural History, but they’ve been dressed in other clothes and posed differently. In one section a scaled-down replica of one of New York’s plazas has been built, lined by faux-facades of the houses on that plaza back then. There are even two half-houses you can enter to see how they lived during that war. There’s a stuffed horse with a harness hung with yellow ribbons, pulling a time-typical carriage. The horse smells too old to be recently stuffed and Dick wonders if that’s also something taken from the storage at the Museum of Natural History.

In the kits’ section, you can braid yellow ribbon bracelets, listen to storytellers, play with toy-replicas from that time, or draw. You get to keep all your drawings, but if you draw something Talmayan-War-themed, you can turn in that drawing in exchange for a lollipop. Dick sees an adult man draw an incredible drawing and turn it in to also get a lollipop. On a whim, Dick stops that man to ask for his name, what he works with, and where he lives, complimenting him for his drawing skills. He’s a construction worker with dreams of one day becoming an artist but tells Dick that normally he’ll have to stick to drawing with coal on wood. Dick asks him if he can make a portrait and offers to pay 50 bucks for it. (It’s all he has on his person.) It’s the first drawing the man sells and Dick treasures it. There are other interactive stations at the kits’ section but Dick doesn’t explore them all.

The museum has a cafeteria. Dick scans the menu to see that there are decent quality food and beverage reasonably priced so people like Seth and his family can afford to eat there if they wish. There’s also an exclusive menu for those who really want to splurge.

On the second floor, there’s a second exhibition that proves that Mar is a sneaky bastard who has his own agenda, even though it probably serves Dick’s cause as well. The exhibition’s called “Religion as a tool,” and depicts the history of the worship of the One. This exhibition isn’t as hyped and doesn’t include a kits’ section, but there are guided tours. In some parts, the light is muted to protect old books of the scripture, documents, or other historical accounts. Of course, there are artifacts and paintings too. And a section about Juvie literature and how it was used to convert a lot of young people. Honestly? The whole exhibition is rather frightening with its examples of how people in power have used faith to deprive people of their autonomy. Though Dick notes that the exhibition isn’t designed to belittle the god in question, only show people how far from the original mythos they’ve come and why.

The third floor has no guided tours and holds the same kind of exhibits as the whole museum did on Dick’s first visit. Tidbits from all of America’s history, including artifacts, tools, clothing, weapons, and art. Dick’s satisfied to note that even here there’s a lot of pelted art.

The grand opening is a success according to the newspaper articles the next day. Everything’s going great. Well. There are hurdles, of course. Dick gave the people comforts in exchange for some of their freedom. Some aren’t bedazzled and act up. There are altercations sometimes when people pelt, and grumblings about this and that, _especially_ from the upper class who already had it made. That was expected. Dick’s rule isn’t completely benevolent. 

The city’s now divided into security districts―precincts where different groups are responsible to uphold the law. These districts might be policed by cops, packs, or some other form of security forces. Any law enforcement agency has strict rules to follow or they’ll be punished. Taking bribes is strictly forbidden for anyone working for the government in any capacity, nor may they wear any symbol that signifies their designation while they work. The most important laws are announced 3 times a day at the most central space in any precinct. The worst crimes are punished by jail time _and_ banishment from the greater Williams territory, just like a pack would be chased off the territory if they didn’t comply with the law. 

Dick’s not sure if anyone’s committed a crime that grave since he took over. He’s sitting at the top comparing what the people need to what his pack needs and then gives orders that others make happen. Right now everything is in a state of ‘rough draft’. He longs for a time when the civil war is over and he can go over the old laws to see what needs to change or be clarified. From his brief stint pouring over the original law books, he could see that the law was fair and written to give all inhabitants equal rights. What messed that up was corruption. But for now, broadly speaking, things are going great politically.

* * *

The Williams pack and the other rebels have secured several states surrounding New York and are now fighting at the borders to take Vermont and New Hamshire to the northeast, and Ohio, Virginia, and West Virginia in the other direction. The Teyshyas have secured Texas according to the same principles as the Williamses. The civil war is turning increasingly nasty in the rest of the country. Dick sees it on his mates’ haunted faces when they’re in private. Sean is out in the field more than he’s at home. And when he’s at home, he’s in the war council. Jed’s running the business side of things when he’s not in the war council. Mar’s in the war council, out in the field, or writing. Laurent’s working overtime trying to boost morale, taking care of the home alongside Jane. Mal’s got her work cut out for her, working beside Doc and the other medics. Jay’s leading raids at the slave dens. Everyone’s busy, running themselves ragged. Including Dick.

Days like this one, when he’s got most of his loved ones around him, are getting increasingly rare. And even now they’re working, gathered to have a meeting. 

"Alright," Jed says, looking at his pocket watch, "since it looks like Mar isn't going to show, we might just start without h―"

The door opens with a bang and Mar comes stomping in, fuming. "Did you see it?! The insolence! The gall! We open our home to them and this is how they repay us! How _dare_ they!" he rants and waves a newspaper in the air.

"What's wrong? What did they write?" Dick asks, worried since he hadn't read the news today.

Mar holds up the newspaper so everyone can see the front. Most of the front is a portrait photo of Dick. A very good one where he’s smiling. Mar points angrily at the headline that reads, ‘The Rise of Dick!’

Dick bursts out laughing. Arvid’s laughing loudly too, and several of the others snigger.

“It’s not funny! Everything Richard’s done for them and they’re making dick jokes???” Mar’s so outraged Dick laughs even harder.

“Have you read the article, Mar?” Sean asks with an indulgent smile.

“Of course I’ve read it!”

“Then why are you so upset? The pun will draw attention and make people read it, and what it says is in no way disrespectful or mocking,” Sean says and leans back to balance on the hind legs of his chair.

“I haven’t read it,” Dick says and holds out his hand towards Mar, who, disgruntedly, hands the paper over. Dick looks at the front page. It’s a very good picture of him. He decides he’ll frame the whole front page and hang it in his room. Jay’s framed both his front pages. One where he comes out of a raided slave den with a grim face, carrying a little girl on his arm, a bloody sword in his other hand. The other is a full-body portrait of him atop his black stallion, again cold-eyed and grim. He’s both dashing and frightening in his black uniform. Dick wishes he’d wear it more often at home. Dick opens up to read the article. “Did we pay him to write these things about me?” he has to ask, one third through.

“No. Even if we’d tried, he wouldn’t have taken the money,” Mar says, now seated at the conference table with the rest of them; Jed, Sean, Jane, Laurent, Aiden, Aleksandr, Marcel, Arvid, Jason, and a few other pack- and merc- representatives for different political projects. “He used to run an independent Conservative newspaper that the former government burned to the ground because he refused to write lies and take bribes. He wrote the most honest account of the Bolton war, which might have been what got him in trouble. When I went to talk to him back then, he spat and slammed the door in my face for being Packrunning trash.”

“Saw right through you then, huh?” Aiden teases with a playful smirk.

“Go hump a cactus,” Mar snipes.

“He can’t. You’re sitting too far away,” Sean sniggers.

“Well, I said _go_ , didn’t I?” Mar counters.

Dick ignores the joking, biting his lip in focus as he reads. ‘ _I, like many others, was apprehensive when he reformed the law enforcement. That is until I discovered several police-officers quit in a rage when they learned they could no longer line their pockets with illegal bribes and had to serve_ all _people equally. It’s frightening to think the police patrolling our streets were upset when they were required to not only uphold the law, but follow it themselves._ ’ Dick looks up. “Is this true? There were cops that quit? I thought we fired everyone and rehired those who agreed to the new contracts?”

One of the mercs answers. “We announced what changes were going to be made, and some cops threw their badges on the floor and left in anger before we could terminate their contracts.”

“Oh dear. That _is_ frightening,” Dick says and continues reading. The article is full of praise, but also mentions some of the problems they’ve been having. The author points out that all these problems might get resolved with time and with more workers returning from the war. He also writes that if Dick’s side loses the civil war, society will no doubt go back to the way it was, with corruption and squalor. He writes that he’s been trying to dig up dirt on Dick, to find any darker motives behind his care for the average person. He’s been thorough. There are interviews with soldiers who’ve been under Dick’s command, and officers that've led Dick. Some of the names mentioned make Dick want to cry happy tears as they belong to people he’d feared he killed when he blew up the camp to rescue Arvid, the Sappers and the officer with the newborn kitling, for instance. 

‘ _...In the end, it’s perhaps not a mystery why Don Dick invests so much care in those less fortunate. He was born scentless to a homeless Conservative couple in the slums, orphaned at an early age, and survived by learning to read and write on his own. He didn’t turn to criminality, rather he made his living as a reader, interpreter, and helping illiterate people navigate the bureaucracy at City Hall. He remained scentless until after he’d already presented, when he was made part of the Williams pack. His politics are based on fixing a system that once did everything it could to stop him from succeeding in life. My interpretation is that he isn’t looking to bring riches to the masses, rather, to level the playing field, giving everyone, if not an equal opportunity, at least a chance to dream big. Even for a devoted believer of the One as myself, it’s hard not to become superstitious while seeing all his accomplishments, hearing tales of impossible feats and bravery, looking into his red eyes and knowing that his Primal name is “Donarrion”._ ’

Dick looks up sharply and looks between Arvid and Marcel. “Oh, no, you didn’t.”

“What?” Arvid asks, seeming genuinely confused. Marcel leans behind Jason who’s sitting between them, to whisper something in Arvid’s ear. Arvid’s eyebrows go up and then he gives Dick a shit-eating grin.

Dick groans. “I ask you not to call me Donarrion and what do you do? You go, ‘Sure, no problem, we’ll just call you,” he makes the sound for his Primal name, “instead.’ I thought it meant some kind of wily animal, like stoat or ferret,” he complains, getting laughs and sniggers. He gestures at the newspaper. “It’s in the paper. It means I’m stuck with it now,” he says to the great amusement of everyone. Dick leans his elbows on the table and hides his face in his hands. “Lovely,” he mutters before straightening his back and looking around. “Okay, enough. Everyone’s here. Let’s get on with the meeting.”

“I’d like to start by addressing Aiden,” Jed says, snapping out of his amusement as if on command. “You’ve been withdrawn and quiet since you started accompanying Dick on his political campaign. I’d like to know why.”

Aiden licks his lips and runs a hand through his hair. “It’s nothing.” Upon seeing Jed’s unimpressed look, he continues. “It’s the workhouses, sir.”

“They’re a success, aren’t they?”

“Yes, they are, sir. And that's just it. We inspected a few. And the demand is so great that people, families, have put their kits and Juvies on a waiting list for when a spot opens up. The workhouses only allow kits and Juvies that haven’t presented. And these kits, they work 8 hours a day doing strenuous and tedious work just to get two hours of lessons on reading and writing. Some of the kits I saw were as young as 4. They shouldn’t be working. They should be out playing. But they work 8 hours and do 2 hours of schooling a day. I just…" Aiden trails off, throwing his hands up shrugging in a gesture of defeat.

"Our kind doesn’t play," Dick says. "In a manner of speaking. We might make a game of, let's say, who can collect the most mussels for dinner, but we don't play like you. From the moment we can help provide for the family, we do. Alternatively, we keep still and hidden to stay safe while our parents work."

"It's wrong. I knew people were poor, but seeing a 4-year-old pull the same workload as an adult just to be allowed to learn to read…" Aiden rubs his neck. “It’s been eating at me. It’s all.”

Jay sniggers. "You're such a soft-hearted little kit," he teases.

Aiden's ticked off. "Oh, _I'm_ the one who's soft, am I? You're the one incapable of doing a slave raid without adopting a kit while you're at it."

"He does? This is news to me," Dick says and looks around at his pack mates, getting several nods.

Jason ignores Dick in favor of scowling at Aid. "Hey, you're the ones that told me that I need to uphold my promises as a Packrunner."

"What's that got to do with anything?" Aiden counters.

Jay rolls his eyes. "When I caught them I promised them I'd make them safe and cared for." The statement leaves a shocked silence around the table and Jay suddenly reeks of anxiety. He crosses his arms in front of his chest and leans back in his chair. "I never specified _when_ , so I didn't lie, now did I?"

"You caught Virtue and Morgan?" Mar asks as if the possibility never occurred to him.

"Yeah. So? You know what I did for a living. Why the surprise?" Jay says defensively.

"Those are the only ones you've come across who you caught?" Sean asks.

"Hardly. But they stood out to me because they called out my bullshit by looking me in the eyes and asking me if I promised to make them safe when I caught them. I said yes. It’s not like it’s a big deal. We’ve got 318 adult members and we’re growing. We can adopt a few kits." Jay looks at Jane and Jed and says, almost accusingly, “You said we could.”

Jane gives him a warm smile and Jed sniggers. “Yes we did,” Jane agrees. “It’s fine, sweetheart.”

Aiden rolls his eyes. “Of course it’s _fine_. Sorry, I was defensive. People who suffer get to me, that’s all. You see something all the time, you get blinded to it. But now I’m interacting and my eyes are open and it gets to me.”

“So we need free education for all kits,” Dick says, hiding that he’s reeling from the revelation that their pack has grown to over 300 people. He certainly hasn’t confirmed that many bonds. He feels out of touch with his pack for the millionth time this month.

"Sir?" one of the administrative pack representatives says. "That might be hard to pull off right now."

"Why?"

"All the major overhauls you've ordered require a lot of administration. We're running ourselves ragged just going through all the archives since the Aristocrats documented _everything_ ,” the administrator says, for a short moment looking haunted. “Every single department is yelling for more literate workers. They come in short supply as it is, and most are still caught up fighting in either of the wars.”

“Delightful,” Dick says dryly. “So we need more literate workers but can’t spare teachers to create them. Anything else we’re in short supply of while we’re at it?”

Mitch, a very quiet, shy, and competent merc-come-pack member, raises his hand hesitantly.

“Yes?” Dick prompts.

“Uh…” Nothing stresses Mitch out as much as direct eye-contact. His scent spikes with anxiety and he averts his gaze, looking at a fixed spot on the table and fiddling with the hem of his sleeve repetitively. “Artists, sir.”

“Artists? What department do you represent?” Jason asks.

Mitch grins at the fixed point on the table. “I wasn’t told. I was told to get shit done, but if I’d take a guess… PR?”

“Okay, a vital department then. I have one artist for you. He’s currently working construction. PR is more important than expedient building so I’ll give you his contact information. While you’re at it, feel free to search out other artists amongst all jobs except administration unless you can do some horse-trading to replace the administrative job the artist vacants,” Dick says.

“I could use an artist too,” Mar says. “I’ve written several kits’ stories about Jason and I need them illustrated before they go to print.”

“What? Why why why?” Jay sputters.

“You know why,” Mar says dismissively. “Don’t worry. The kits will love them,” he adds confidently. “Speaking of which, have you gotten the draft for the book yet? I want to read it.”

Jay groans and sinks down defeatedly. “No. He said he’d be done with it in a few days. And for the record, I hate all of you.”

Dick and several others snigger at him. He’d feel far more sorry for Jay if he hadn’t seen how much he’s enjoying his budding fame. It’s having others make him dance on a string that makes him anxious; the lack of control. But he goes along, and it isn’t because of the bond compulsion, so technically he could put his foot down.

Overall, despite each solution creating new problems, politically, Dick’s doing great.

* * *


	33. A Major Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Williams pack get a long-awaited visitor. Mar isn't thrilled. Dick struggles to check his temper and Jed experiences heartbreak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the long absence. Partially, it has to do with one of my Betas being swamped, and partially with me not doing great. I'm posting this now to while I wait to take my dog to the vet, which also might be his last trip ever. *cries forever* Fingers crossed it's not. Some of y'all have started prodding me, asking me if I'm alright. Thanks for the compassion and care. <3
> 
> Anyway, there's a lot of politics in this chapter. I've tried to shave it down but I need it there for plot reasons. There's a segment in this chapter that's almost to a tee exactly like in Marlon's story. You'll spot it. I'm keeping it in because it's come to my attention that I do have readers that don't read all stories in the verse or who might need to jog their memory. If you recognize it you can skim through it.
> 
> You won't have to wait quite as long for the next chapter, though. Hope y'all are doing well. Thank you for your comments. They do a great deal to keep my mood boosted while i fight not to crash into another depression. *hug*

* * *

Dick’s in a conference meeting when Jed knocks and steps inside. He gives Dick a brief flash of a smile, nodding to the other meeting participants, then looks at Dick and interrupts him by saying, “Could you wrap this up? I need you.”

“I’ll be done in about two hours, dear,” Dick informs him then goes on talking about the tax reform. 

Jed looks behind himself at the door, shifts from one foot to the other, then looks to the side at the floor. He smells completely neutral. But he isn’t leaving; he’s just standing there. It’s as if he can’t make up his mind about going.

Dick’s suddenly alarmed. “...fixed rate of 25% on every dollar earned over―. Okay, meeting’s over. We reconvene tomorrow at 10 AM,” he says, cutting himself short and slamming his folder shut.

“But―” One of the politicians of the former government starts to protest.

“No buts. Something more important just came up. I’ll see you tomorrow,” Dick repeats as he stands up, grabs his folder, and starts to walk towards the door. He meets Jed's gaze and sees a flicker of gratitude. "Lead the way, dear," he tells Jed when he comes up alongside him.

Jed puts a hand on his lower back and leads him side by side, walking casually, nodding or smiling at people they meet. There are many strangers here these days, and Dick nearly stumbles as he catches a familiar scent he's never smelt before. ' _Dean!_ ' his brain provides, but as they pass the man, Dick can see that it isn't. "Who was that?" he asks, throwing a look over his shoulder once they've passed.

"Henry Winchester, Patriarch of the Kansas Winchesters, part of the Kansas Triads," Jed answers. His tone is pleasant and calm, but Dick can spot a strain around his eyes.

Dick hums thoughtfully. His mysterious Dean must be a Winchester then. He makes a mental note to search out Henry and ask if they’ve got a Dean in the pack.

Jed doesn't say anything else. He leads Dick to his bedroom, locks the door behind them, stops, draws breath to speak, but says nothing. Instead, his face begins to crumble, and his scent shifts from neutral to fear and sorrow. Dick takes one step towards him to wrap his arms around him and purr soothingly. It’s all it takes. Jed clings, burrows his face by Dick’s shoulder and cries, sobbing with no restraint.

Dick lets him cry himself tired, trusting that Jed would’ve told him if his tears are for one of their mutual loved ones. About half an hour later sees them lying on the bed, holding each other. Jed’s blown his nose and is exhausted, an errant sob shaking his body now and then. “Thank you,” Jed says at last. “I needed that.”

“Any time, dearheart,” Dick answers and strokes sweaty locks out of Jed’s forehead. “Do you feel ready to talk about it?”

Jed sighs. “It’s Karen. She’s been arrested for treason.”

“Oh dear. Is she alive?”

“I don’t know. We don’t know what happened to her after the arrest. I’m worried sick, and I fear they may have killed her.”

“They might have kept her as a bartering piece or for interrogation,” Dick says. Unhelpfully, since that option, while it provides a possibility for rescue, also might mean she’s suffering worse. However, it is the most likely thing the regular army would do, and everything points at the Aristocrats acting according to standard norms. How prisoners of war are treated is, for once, in Dick’s wheelhouse. He doesn’t expand on it.

Jed makes a suffering sound. “That scares me as much as her death does.”

“Would you tell me a bit more about her to better let me share the affection and worry for her?”

“She and I, we used to be one. She was bright and brave and strong, and the first day at school, when I got my first whiff of her, my heart skipped a beat and kept skipping for decades. We were inseparable. Our packs saw how close we were and allowed us to visit each other at home.” Jed chuckles ruefully. “Mainly because we’d do so anyway, trying to sneak each other in. I remember how I used to carry her to my room so she wouldn’t leave a scent trail, thinking nobody knew. Then one day, mom stuck her head into my room and said, ‘Dinner’s ready. Bring Karen this time. The food you sneak up to her isn’t nearly enough for a growing kit, and we worry about her.’” He grins at the memory. “My primaries were nice to her but acted distantly. I thought they didn’t like her. But the real reason was that they didn’t want to accidentally end up as her primaries in case she’d get wanderlust from two packs when she presented. They knew she and I would get mated.”

“That can happen?”

Jed smiles. “I don’t know. Neither did they. But they weren’t taking any chances. She’d barely presented before she was made part of the pack, and they finally expressed the affection they’d always had for her. The two decades that followed were easily the best time of my life. We were still growing together. We went to college together, worked together at the company, and had three kits far too quickly. Everyone warned us about the dangers, but Karen always had easy pregnancies and births. Best of all, back then, I still had lots of time to spend with my kits. I miss being a family man. Andy doesn’t even know I’m his dad. He calls me grandpa, which is fine. But Matthew, Mike, and Luci barely had any other primaries than us. We even brought them along to work with us.” Jed’s quiet for a bit. “Some days, I wish I wasn’t so ambitious. Can you imagine being a domestic? Taking care of the home and kits, trusting others to make all the hard decisions?”

Dick makes a sound of horrified disgust.

Jed laughs. A real laugh that cleanses some of the sorrow in the air. “Yes. I agree. When I think wistfully about it, it’s the ability to let my mind rest I long for. If I’d actually try living as a domestic, I’d go stir-crazy within a month. But back then, I wasn’t a leader yet, and you’d have to pry Matthew out of my cold, dead hands if you wanted to separate us. Mike and Luci, they were different. They’d run off and play together, get in trouble, and were rambunctious. They didn’t have ambitions. But Matthew wanted to be with us. Given a choice, he’d play in my office, sit in my lap to learn what I was doing, hound Karen with questions, trying to be like us. As a parent, you aren’t supposed to have favorites…”

“But you did,” Dick states. 

“But I did,” Jed agrees. “Athena, forgive me, but I did. Matthew was like Karen, sound of mind, inquisitive, thoughtful, compassionate, but he had my business sense. And when Karen and I started climbing in rank, getting less time on our hands, he kept seeking us out. He found his calling within the family business, just like me.”

Dick keeps quiet when Jed pauses to stare at the ceiling for a while before he goes on. “...And Karen… she was content, but not passionate about anything in particular until we were sent off to war the first time. Looking back, the beginning of the end happened in the Canadian war. I think she found herself over there. I remember seeing her. Gun in one hand, saber in the other, and a damn sword stuck through her abdomen, barking orders. That's an image that will stick with me for the rest of my life. After she'd healed up when we came home, she threw herself into the war study and officially joined the regular army. Up until then, we’d been growing together, but from the moment she chose a full-time military career, we started growing apart. It took me about a decade to realize we probably never could get back to what we once were if one of us didn’t forsake their passion. But I was still half in denial about it until I begged her to come home, and she didn’t.”

“That’s when you lost your mating bond and your scent?”

Jed sighs. “Yes. I’ll never stop loving her completely. She’s a remarkable person. We met a couple of times at the front last year, and there’s still something between us. But it’s… I don't know. Tainted? The knowledge that she can't love me as much as I loved her, the fact that she abandoned me when I needed her the most… the trust is broken, and it's hard to revive romantic feelings that are dead."

"You'll never forgive her?"

Jed huffs. "I never blamed her in the first place, sweetheart. There's nothing to forgive. She had valid reasons and I understand them. It didn't lessen the pain of losing her. And now I’m scared I’ll lose her all over again.”

“I don’t have any advice or comforting words to give,” Dick laments.

Jed smiles sadly. “I don’t need words. I just needed to be held and a reminder that I’m not alone.”

Dick can’t help himself from asking, “...Jane?”

Jed’s smile turns fond. “Karen and I knew each other better than anyone. We grew up together, and for a long time did everything together. The bond we had can’t be replaced. Jane was there when I needed someone, and I love her. But,” He leans his head forward to touch his lips to Dick’s forehead, “when I got my first whiff of you, my heart skipped a beat, and it’s kept skipping ever since.”

* * *

Karen isn’t the only high-ranking officer who’d been arrested. Amongst the soldiers still stuck at the front in Canada, several officers were arrested and swiftly replaced, and they’d started arresting ordinary soldiers as well. Efforts are made to find out if Karen and the others are still alive, and, if so, where they’re kept. Dick spends more time in the war council, mostly keeping quiet and listening.

Dick’s continuously exhausted. He frequently forgets to eat, no longer feeling hunger. If it wasn’t for Naomi’s sharp, “I strongly _advise_ Master to eat,” while slamming a plate in front of him then going into a submissive pose, looking at him with a thinly veiled ‘Or else’ from under her lashes, Dick might have starved without even noticing it. He’s still always horny, but between his duties and everyone else’s duties, there’s no time for sex. He keeps falling asleep in Anna’s bed during storytime.

Today, he hasn’t even made it through the whole day before the urge to nap becomes overwhelming. During a break, he heads for his room to catch some shut-eye but gets distracted when he hears Mar’s angry voice coming from Jason’s room. Dick worries Mar might have gotten upset by being reminded that Jay was a Snatcher and hurries down the corridor. He smells Mar’s anger already outside of Jay’s room and knocks, but doesn’t wait for an invitation to step inside. Jason’s curled in on himself on one of the armchairs, one leg drawn up on his seat, hugged to his chest with an arm, biting nervously on his other hand’s nail.

Mar’s pacing while reading something. He neither stops nor looks up, but when he smells Dick he says, “Richard, listen to this crap! ‘ _I was abandoned as a little kit. I don’t even remember my parents. All I had was my best friend. We lived homeless on the streets. I was only six years old when a Snatcher took him. Not long after that, I was grabbed and placed in an orphanage. Two years later I finally managed to get away from the orphanage, set on rescuing my friend from slavery…_ ’” Mar stops and looks up at Dick. He’s so angry his cheeks are red. He holds up the manuscript. “This turd-collection is five hundred pages long. And it breezes through all the early trauma in less than three paragraphs as if it wasn’t what shaped Jason to the man he is today. Are we paying for this? A first-grader can write more entrancing stories. A baboon could write better! This is barely fit for feeding the fireplace.” Jason winces when Mar throws the manuscript at the unlit fireplace so papers fly everywhere. “Where’s your typewriter?!” he demands from Jay, looking around until he spots it, and stomps off towards it to sit down. He rifles through Jay’s desk drawers until he finds paper, then takes a sheet, puts it into the typewriter, and starts writing.

Dick looks at Jay. “Are you okay, dear?”

Jay shrugs, eyes slightly haunted, then grins. “Your mate is scary when he’s pissed.”

Dick hums his agreement, the angry _tchick, tchick, tchick,_ of Mar’s writing as a backdrop. Mar’s hammering away so fast it’s a wonder the typebars don’t get stuck. “If you’d rather keep the other draft, I’ll calm him down and get him out of here.”

“What? No, no, no. It was trash. And Alberto kept using difficult words I had to look up. I couldn’t see why anyone would want to read it.” Jay gestures towards Mar. “Apparently, neither could he,” he says with a grin. The grin fades and he looks pleadingly at Dick. “Do we have to publish books about me?”

“Of course not. But if you refuse, I’ll clear half of my schedule just to follow you around so I can convince you to say yes.”

Jay scrutinizes him for a beat before he chuckles. “You know, there’s something reassuring about how reliably pushy you are.”

“Would you rather I try to trick you?”

“No,” Jay says with a resigned sigh. He pauses before he admits, “It’s… it’s comforting, in a way. You’re always honest so I know what to expect, then stand fast so I can’t chicken out, providing me with backup.” He suddenly sniggers. “It’s not exactly like I’m the only one put on display, _Don Roman_.”

Dick sits down tiredly on an armchair beside Jay. “Indeed, dear, and you have no idea how uncomfortable it makes me.”

“Really? You hide it well. Personally, I love it when I’m out there, doing the raids, or talking to people in the streets. It’s when I’m back home I see all the worst-case scenarios and get the jitters.”

They sit and talk, eating away at Dick’s nap time. It’s nearly time for Dick to go back to his duties when Mar declares, “There! The first chapter is done.” He gets up from the desk and brings a few pages over, handing them to Jay with an expectant look. Jay obediently starts to read. He's not even all the way down the first page before he starts to smell of acute sadness and presses a hand to his mouth. "Hah! See that, Richard? That's what I was going for," Mar says proudly, pointing at Jay. "If my readers aren't crying their eyes out by the end of the first chapter, I've failed."

"You're writing about a real person, dear. Maybe not bounce from excitement because he cries," Dick chastises.

"It's still fiction," Mar defends himself but smells of sudden guilt. "It's not like I know what really happened."

By page three Jay's giggling, and at the last page silent tears run down his cheeks. When he's finished reading he has to stifle a sniffle before he can speak. "It's not exactly what happened, but you're uncomfortably close," he says. "Anyway, I thought you didn't have time to write the book?"

"I'll take the time. What did you think?"

"It's awful. I can't imagine it will go well for kitty-me and I'm desperate to know what happens next," he says with a mournful smirk.

Dick makes grabby hands until Jay gives him the chapter. ' _The boy clutched the prized blanket to his chest with his tiny, four-year-old hands, heart still jackrabbiting in fear_ …' Mar goes straight into the action. Jared and Jay were waylaid by Snatchers and ran in different directions. The chapter starts with four-year-old Jay having crawled into a tipped over metal barrel for shelter, it's raining, the night has fallen, it's getting cold, and Jared still hasn't come back since they were separated. He returns, and the rest of the short chapter is devoted to the pair surviving and their friendship. By the end of the chapter, Jay loses his blanket and Dick's sobbing openly. "It's perfect, dear. This is exactly what I want."

* * *

“Don Roman!” a merc comes running just as Dick exits a room with Aiden. “We’ve got a possibly hostile battalion approaching,” she says. “They’re led by a Major who says he wishes to talk to you. He claims they’re here to possibly join us. They’re currently crossing the bridge. We only let him bring one company, the others are kept under surveillance in the city. We’re escorting them to make sure they won’t get a chance to do anything stupid.”

“Why the hell was he allowed to take a darn company with him?” Aiden demands.

“One of his closest lieutenants has been confirmed to be a close friend of you and Marlon, Sir. His parents are in your employ as well. Keith something?”

“Keith’s with him?” Aiden asks, perking up.

“Yes, Sir. The problem is that Major Wadsworth who’s leading them will only speak with the Don.”

Aiden looks troubled, but Dick isn’t. “Very well. Do we have any bulletproof vests that will cover Lucifer?” Dick asks.

“Are you sure about this?” Aid asks.

“Keith and his family have supported Mar and believed his claims since he came back from Coombs. Keith’s been offered membership in our pack. He said no, knowing he’d be outrageously rich if he’d taken the offer. His morals are firm. He wouldn’t fight for the side that is trying to eradicate Progs. Certainly not for money, so yes, I’m sure. I’ll meet the Major outside and we’ll have snipers ready if he makes a wrong move. I’ll be fine. Just help me find some protective gear first.”

This is one of the best things about having mercs. They relay news long before it happens.

Almost too long. 

After having suited up in protective gear they have to wait an eternity and then some before the company finally can be spotted down the road, flanked by mercs ready to fire at the first sign of trouble. Then it takes another few minutes before they’re nearing the gates.

The Major that leads the company approaches the gate on top of a white horse, putting himself in danger. He’s dressed in the red parade uniform with two medals on his chest, painting an even bigger target of himself. His face is grim and eyes hard and flared. The air is tense as they all wait for the first bullet to be fired but his soldiers are not in battle-ready positions. The four platoon leaders are mounted on horses riding beside their men, each carrying the American flag on a standard. Most seem nervous but their commander is angry. “I demand to speak with Don Roman,” he says.

Jed comes to stand inside of the gates, bars the only thing that separates them, as much of a target as the company commander. “I’m Jedikiah Williams, the Patriarch of the pack. What is your business with us?”

“I know who you are. But I want to speak with the Don, not you,” the commander says with a hard edge to his voice.

After some quick debate amongst the Williamses Dick’s allowed to go, Aiden and Marlon flanking him armed and ready to shoot at the first sign of trouble. Marlon keeps his rifle aimed at the Major, finger hovering over the trigger, smelling and looking ready to murder.

The Major gives Mar a disdainful look and jumps off his horse. He strides towards Dick and stops when Marlon growls a threat. “I’m Major Carter Wadsworth,” he says curtly. He’s the most beautiful man Dick’s ever seen. Usually, Dick doesn’t get hung up on looks, but Wadsworth is stunning. He smells good too. “You’re Don Roman?” Wadsworth wants to be confirmed. 

Dick nods and smiles coyly. “Please, call me Dick,” he encourages.

“As you please, Don Dick.” Wadsworth gestures with a paper. “See this bullshit? These are my orders.” He holds it out and Marlon’s growl grows fiercer when Dick closes the distance to take it. Wadsworth crosses his arms over his chest, ignoring Marlon and anyone else except Dick. “For over a year I’ve been fighting alongside good men and women, caring for them, seeing them dying, saving them, and being saved by them. I’ve made sure that anyone under me knows we’re all Americans. We’ve fought for America under the slogan ‘Land of the Free’. We’ve become brothers and sisters baptized in blood, sweat, and tears.” If Marlon hadn’t been undercover Dick wouldn’t have known what baptized meant. But Mar had told him some of the Conservatives would dip their kitlings into water to wash them free of ‘bonds beyond the veil’ to promise their souls to the Light. It’s a ridiculous practice since you can’t give away someone’s soul. Only the individual themselves could do that.

Wadsworth continues while Dick reads. “I’ve seen soldiers of all designations perform incredible feats for each other, going beyond what duty requires. We’ve burned in hell together. We heard the rumors of packs deserting but at first, it was only a few packs of criminals. But then suddenly other Packrunners deserted. Reputable packs known for their dedication and valor. Packs like yours. Then General Hartley is arrested for treason in the middle of a briefing. The accusations against her are pure bullshit and I know that because it doesn’t add up with the timeline. Men under my command were apprehended and taken away for questioning. Packrunners and Progs, all of them. All with other bullshit accusations directed their way. I’ve had to pin stars onto all my soldiers, I’ve had to lie for them, to say that they’re present during morning prayers. Then the mass desertion happened. Good, obedient soldiers leaving mid-battle. When I questioned them they said their Mains had called them home to face a bigger threat than the Union. Then this happens.” He gestures angrily at the paper in Dick’s hand.

Dick holds out the paper behind him so Marlon can take a look. It’s an order for their arrest. Wadsworth isn’t to interrogate them, just apprehend them and bring them in. If he can’t, he’s supposed to kill them. According to the paper, he has a full battalion to do the job, but there’s only a company here with him. Marlon edges closer carefully and snatches the paper to scuttle back to a safer distance without removing his aim from Wadsworth. He reads in quick glances, keeping his main focus on Wadsworth, then hands the paper to Aiden.

“We’ve been told the Packrunners are trying to seize power over the country. That you have committed horrible crimes against innocent people. But that doesn’t explain why our arrests target Progs. And when we got back to America the whole fucking country is on fire like it wasn’t when we had the Union here. We are burning books, for Light’s sake! Dangerous literature they say. Yet I scraped a kits’ book out of the flames and it was about a little kit who was nervous about starting school, and how her pack supported her and taught her how kits of other designations are just like her. It’s a book that speaks of peace and tolerance and it wasn’t being burned by mistake." Wadsworth turns his head and yells at his troops. "What are we!?"

As one, the two hundred men and women answer, " **Americans!** "

"What do we fight for!?"

" **Freedom!** "

Carter looks back at Dick, angry scowl firmly in place. "You heard them. Now, one of my men has vouched for you, saying you, your mate, and his brother being good people. Personally, I don't trust your mate James worth shit. He's far too good of a liar."

"His name is Marlon," Aiden corrects from Dick’s other side.

"Which is my point," Carter counters and spares another disdainful look at Marlon. "But I've got orders telling me to kill Americans. To do to my brothers and sisters what I've spent a year fighting against. And an asshole once told me that friendly fire isn't. So I want you to tell me what the fuck is going on because I'm no fucking sheep who’ll follow blindly. If I'm going to turn on my fellow Americans it has to be for a good fucking reason, and my superiors feed me shit. If they were telling me the truth there wouldn't fucking be a Conservative O pointing a gun at me from inside of your gates." Wadsworth points at Naomi who stands with her handgun trained on him as determinedly as Marlon. Her star-pendant hangs outside her clothes. Usually, she’s quick to hide it when it falls out, but her focus on Wadsworth is unwavering. "So talk."

"Very well,” Dick says. “In broad strokes, a group of leading Aristocrats drafted us to get us out of the way. While we were away, they outlawed Packrunning, seized our property, and stole our kits. Or, in our case, they tried to murder our kits and Os while trying to pin the blame on another pack. You want the long version you'll have to come inside for a sit-down, Major Wadsworth."

"I want to bring my officers with me and I want a promise out of you that no one under my command will be harmed in my absence."

"I can promise we won't do anything unless we're forced to act in self-defense. As long as you keep it peaceful you’ll be safe under ceasefire negotiations.”

“Then so be it.” Carter lifts his hand and the four officers come riding up to him. Marlon lowers his weapon when his eyes fall on one of them. Dick follows his gaze and recognizes Keith. All four of them are wearing the star on their uniform collar. Carter gives a few orders. The officers gallop back to relay them, then come back and dismount. “For transparency's sake, Conservative, Conservative, Primal, Progressive,” Carter says and points at the officers in turn. “Formal introductions can be made inside. Now, I’m ready to listen to your side of this bullshit. Lead the way.”

And listen, he does. He’s so angry Dick sneezes when he comes too close to him. Grim-faced, Wadsworth listens first to Dick, then to Aiden, then to Jed, then to Marcel, then to the Conservative journalist. Dick’s surprised Mar keeps quiet to glare suspiciously the whole time. Wadsworth rarely interrupts unless he’s asking questions of clarification. He looks at maps and documents, wheels ticking in his head. They’re not telling him what they’re planning, only things that have already happened. The distrust Mar shows Wadsworth is very obviously mutual. Dick would’ve been far more affected by it if it wasn’t for Keith sitting by Wadsworth’s side with an air of adoration. Dick’s only met Keith a few times but he knows how important he is to Mar and Aiden so his trust of the Major goes a long way to ensure Dick will listen. Come to think of it, Mar’s suspiciousness might very well be jealousy regarding Keith. 

They break for lunch and then for dinner. Wadsworth and his officers spend both meals outside of the estate because Wadsworth wants to be with his men. And they are his men. It’s in the way they look at him and smell around him. There is absolute trust there. That’s further proved by the Packrunners who haven’t deserted but opted to stay with him. 

When the sun is setting, Jed offers to house Wadsworth and the four officers, as well as stabling and caring for their horses. Carter accepts and declares his officers off-duty. As soon as he does, Keith gets up from his seat to come around the table, throwing himself on Marlon in a crushing hug. The atmosphere turns more relaxed, but Wadsworth still reeks of rage. It’s the first time Dick’s come across someone in the same state of perpetual fury as Marlon, Jed notwithstanding since he knows how to mask his feelings.

Marlon withdraws to reconnect with Keith, and Dick takes the opportunity to stop Wadsworth with a hand on his arm just as he’s leaving the room. “Major Wadsworth. May I call you Carter?”

The Major gives him a tight smile. “If you insist I call you Dick, then, please do.”

Dick smiles coyly. “Carter, it would be an honor if you’d have a drink with me in private if you aren’t too busy?”

There’s a twitch by Carter's eye before he smiles―less tightly this time, the sting of anger in his scent lessening a little. “I’d love to.” 

“If you gentlemen would follow me,” Naomi says, almost making Dick jump. He hadn’t been aware of her presence even though he could smell her. She stands with her eyes downcast, hands clasped in front of her, the very image of a Conservative servant if you look past the gun holstered by her hip. But normally, she’d never take the initiative to pick out a room for a private rendezvous unless asked. Dick doesn’t protest. Maybe Mar asked her to keep an eye on the Major? Dick wouldn’t put it past him.

Dick decides not to voice his surprise and instead gestures invitingly for Wadsworth to follow when Naomi starts walking. “So. I’ve heard you’re into gardening,” he states casually as they stroll after her.

Carter’s eyes widen in surprise before he looks dubiously at Dick. “I can’t for my life imagine who would make such an outrageous claim about me.”

“I suppose you couldn’t,” Dick muses. How do you explain a ‘veil walker’ to a Conservative aristocrat? Wadsworth hadn’t introduced himself as an aristocrat, but it’s in his posture and accent. Naomi leads them to a sitting room and gets to work lighting the fireplace while Dick produces a carafe of cognac from a cupboard and pours two glasses; one half-full and one with just a little bit at the bottom. They sit down in two adjacent armchairs facing the fireplace. Dick holds up his glass. “May I propose a toast?” he says.

Carter raises his glass. “To liberty.”

“To equity,” Dick counters.

Carter raises an eyebrow briefly before he drinks, keeping his eyes on Dick. Dick raises the glass to his mouth and dips his tongue in the liquid. He sees Naomi stiffen and throw a look over her shoulder, pinning him down. Her expression is neutral, but there’s still an understood ‘don’t you dare drink that’ underneath. Dick lowers his glass and looks mournfully down at it for a second before he fixates a pleasant expression on his face and looks back at Carter.

Carter looks at him with a small smile dancing in the corners of his mouth. “You know, normally when someone refuses to drink after offering me a glass of something, I’d be suspicious,” he muses.

“Believe me, Carter, I’d happily drink the whole bottle dry with you, but until the jerk nesting in my belly sees fit to move out, I’m not allowed to…” He shrugs and gives Naomi a pointed look, wordlessly telling Carter he’d get his ass kicked if he tried to drink alcohol.

Carter chuckles, his anger abating another notch. “Speaking of. I’ve never met a pack that keeps servants before,” he says and follows Naomi with his gaze as she gets up from lighting the fireplace and instead starts dusting with a feather duster she always keeps hanging from her belt. 

“The former government sent them to us when we got drafted instead of letting our domestics stay at home and do their job. It was part of their plan to use Conservatives to convert our kits. Though, when the government hired assassins to get rid of us, they’d put the servants on the kill list too, and I’m not going to throw out people who are under our protection, even if they were placed here by our enemies.”

“All of them are Conservatives? But they’re not wearing stars?” Carter notes with a hint of surprise. Out of the servants, the only one he’d seen wearing a star was Naomi, and she’d hidden it the moment Carter was invited to enter.

“What they do in their rooms is their business, but I’ve forbidden them to wear the star visible. I, and many with me, have encountered far too much cruelty by Conservatives. For a long time, the sight of the star triggered acute memories of a Conservative mob intent on murdering me for the simple crime of trying to keep warm in the cold winter rain. All I did was let my pelt grow. Our servants are very respectful, good people, mindful not to send me into flashbacks of trauma. If they wear their star, they keep it under their clothes. They don’t perform their faith for the benefit of others, so no harm is done.”

Carter puts his glass down on the side table and removes his elaborate star brooch, putting it in his pocket. Dick appreciates the gesture. “Forgive the intrusive question, but are you getting treatment for the psychological aspects of the trauma you just told me about?”

“Oh, certainly, dear. If I didn’t, I’m sure it would’ve gotten worse with time. And, please, Major Carter, feel free to ask whatever you wish. If I don’t want to answer something, I won’t. But you’re welcome to ask,” Dick says with a coy smile.

Carter bites his lip, hesitating for a beat. “You’re not what I expected,” he states.

“Then what did you expect?” Dick asks curiously.

“I was led to believe you were much older.” He smirks and adds, “And far less pregnant.”

Dick chuckles, clipping his scent to hide his annoyance. His age and his pregnancy have gotten his leadership ability questioned on several occasions. Carter doesn’t show the small tell-tale signs of catching the scent-clipping that Dick’s observed in people with very sensitive noses. “Every time needs its leader, and I rise to the occasion, my age is of no consequence. But enough about me. You’ve been listening to us all day. I’d like to hear you tell me about your journey here. You smell so angry.”

“Shouldn’t I be? Aren’t you?” Carter shakes his head and sips his drink. “We were told Packrunners led by the Williams pack had committed a military coup here in New York.”

“We did. But not until they’d conspired to murder us all,” Dick confirms, although Carter had already heard about it briefly during the day. 

Carter briefly bows his head in agreement. “We were ordered to enter the US in Michigan and go around to come here from West Virginia. Only, once we crossed over the American border, we discovered the country lies in complete chaos. The war with the Union has gone on for so long, I’ve gotten used to seeing refugees and homeless people down on their luck. But now?” Carter shakes his head again. “Progs and Packrunners are arrested en masse and thrown in concentration camps. Some are executed on the spot. We were told that they were rebels, and it was to protect America from your side’s tyranny that they were threatening our freedom. We heard you’d murdered the whole government when you took power, and how dreary life had become in the occupied territory. They told us how badly you made innocent Americans suffer, and that violence and fear was how you kept your power.”

Dick snorts and smirks sardonically.

Carter bends his head briefly in agreement again. “The areas we crossed to get here were full of designational tension. We saw several pelted men and women who’d been lynched for pelting. Some villagers formed human walls around their packs when we passed, in other villages they vehemently begged we take them and do despicable things to them. Progs are prosecuted everywhere.” He growls and sneers at the fireplace, taking a sip of his drink before he goes on. “Then we crossed over to your side, and nothing was like we’d been told. I had to send men into a village to buy yellow ribbons, because anytime we were spotted without them villagers came out to a man, brandishing pitchforks and clubs, glaring at us. We started seeing pelted people moving about doing their daily business, interacting shamelessly with other people. Of course, once we traveled under your identifier, we started seeing conflicts amongst people here too, but it’s more of the trivial kind. Like how Jerry overcharged the eggs, and Molly washed Rita’s favorite shirt in too hot water so it shrunk. That’s the kind of bullshit problems your people have.”

“Even in the most remote villages of the land we currently occupy?” Dick asks curiously. The orders he’s given the mercs are to implement his rule in every place they conquer before they move on, but he hasn’t been able to leave New York to see for himself.

“There too.” Carter pauses, swirling his drink, looking down at the amber liquid. “I noticed something was very different everywhere we came, but not what, until one of my men pointed it out. There are no homeless people, and nearly no one smells of starvation. Then coming to New York City gave me the biggest shock. I’ve been here before, several times. I know what it was like before. But now? It’s clean. There are no beggars, no homeless, barely anyone smells of fear. The city’s so full of yellow ribbons it’s like stepping into a reenactment of the Yellow Ribbon War. You don't rule by fear like I was told.”

“Oh, I definitely do. If you come after my pack or the people living under my protection, you’d better quake in fear, Carter. I don’t deal in idle threats.”

Carter’s lips quirk in a crooked smirk. He takes a sip of his drink and regards Dick. “They hail you as a political genius.”

“Who does?”

“The commoners.”

Dick shakes his head. Carter is too beautiful for his own good. His scent doesn’t hold a candle to Dick’s mates, but looking at him, the constant pseudo-Heat makes itself remembered. “I was given nearly unlimited power. Our chance of winning this war is slim so I want the people to make life a living hell for the Aristocrats when, _if_ , they come into power again. I want people to know life doesn’t have to be as bad as it’s always been. Anyone who tries to go back to the old method of governance will have a hard time. I’ve given orders like house the homeless, feed the starving, put the idle to work, and give pride to those with crushed spirits. Then the people I surround myself with, men and women much more skilled, knowledgeable, and experienced than I, make it happen. I’ve gone to talk to the people on the streets to ask them what they want and need, and if it was within my power to realistically provide it, I’ve done so. You don’t have to be a genius to figure out starving people need food.”

“And what will happen when the money runs out?”

It’s a valid question. “It will only run out if we lose. We’ve just decided on a tax reform. Everyone will be paying 25%. There will be no tax at all up to a certain amount, and anything you earn over that you’ll have to pay tax on.”

“So you’re increasing the taxes,” Carter states.

Dick has to clip his scent rapidly to hide the rage flaring to life inside of him. He smiles pleasantly. “You know, Carter, your aristocratic heritage is evident in how you comport yourself. But even if you’d tried to hide it, that statement alone would have revealed that you come from the top one percent of the richest families in the country. Tell me, dear, how much has your family paid in taxes this last decade?”

Carter’s brows draw down suspiciously. He sips his drink as if he’s trying to gain time to answer.

“No? I’ll tell you then. You haven’t paid a single cent,” Dick says confidently and pics up the decanter to refill Carter’s cognac. “So another question. The average worker earns about 1500 dollars annually. How much tax do they pay?”

“I’ve been in New York before, Dick, but I don’t know your tax rates.”

Except, he did know the tax rates for his social class or he wouldn’t have mentioned how they’d increase. “Ah. But you forget, I have a city full of refugees. They report it’s roughly the same in all big cities. You _do_ have big cities in Georgia, don’t you, dear?” Dick lifts an eyebrow dryly. “But, I’ll tell you. In New York, they pay 53% in taxes. I’m not increasing the taxes, I’m lowering them for 93% of the population. My counsel and I haven’t agreed on the tax-free sum yet, but I’d prefer it if it covered the cost of rent in the poorest neighborhoods.”

Carter purses his lips. “Some would argue it’s unfair since the rich have to pay much more money than most.”

“They wouldn’t, though. They’d pay exactly one fourth, like everyone else. And if we look at the subjective value, the more you earn, the less value your money has to you.”

“Some would say they deserve lower taxes because they create many jobs with their companies.”

“They’re wrong. If you grew up as I did, you’d know that for every one that falls there’s someone to take their place. Everyone can be replaced."

Carter snorts. "I think you're wrong. Do you think you can be replaced?"

"Definitely,” Dick answers without hesitation. “My mate, Marlon, would be chewing at the bit to take over the political realm."

Carter’s eye twitches. "I personally think nothing good would come out of giving Marlon Williams any kind of power."

"Ah. So you've read his books then,” Dick concludes. “I assure you, he's matured since he wrote them."

Carter purses his perfect lips. "I still think you're wrong. Everyone can't be replaced. Nobody else would consider committing to your political reform in the midst of a war. You're diverting too many resources to those who aren't fighting."

"Oh but you misunderstand me, Major. You can replace a horse with a car and it fills the same purpose. If a big store burns to the ground it might be replaced by several small market vendors. If I die, the one that takes over may have other methods or ideals, but they're still perfectly capable of replacing me. An Aristocrat could replace me. It would make the way history goes down different, but life goes on with or without me.”

Carter’s lips compress into a line, eyebrows drawing down into a thoughtful frown. Dick wonders if he grooms his eyebrows or if they’re naturally that perfect, like the silhouette of bird wings in flight. “And how’s your health?” Carter asks, letting his eyes wander to Dick's belly meaningfully.

"Feel free to siphon to find out," Dick offers with a hint of anticipation. Carter's scent shifts to anxious and excited. He throws a look at Naomi. Dick almost laughs at him. "Go on. I know you want to," Dick cajoles, trying not to sound like he’s making fun of the other man.

"It would be inappropriate," Carter states but with a tone of uncertainty, keeping his eyes on Naomi.

"No wonder Conservatives have such a high pregnancy mortality rate. Very well. I guess my health will remain a mystery," Dick teases, berating himself for being such a horndog. The moment the topic came up he wanted the beautiful Alpha’s mouth on his throat. He gives himself a mental kick.

Carter hesitates, looking between Dick and the back of Naomi. “It's not that I don't want to… but."

"You don't have to kiss me to siphon me," Dick chuckles, giving up on the idea. "Not that I wouldn’t love a kiss, but you have fingers, Major. Your honor will be intact still."

Carter swallows, licks his lips nervously, and reaches out towards Dick's neck. He smells excited, cheeks tinting pink, and holds Dick's gaze. His fingers graze below the gland and drag just a tad bit too slow for the move not to be intimate. The sense of intimacy is enhanced when he breaks eye contact briefly to throw another nervous glance at Naomi as if he’s doing something taboo. This little interaction says a lot about Carter. There are Conservatives like Dick’s parents, whose belief is so strong it guides their every action. The opposites of that are the lenient, who consider the scripture as vague guidelines to ignore as they please. Then there are people like Carter, who will uphold a facade of piousness, and are certainly raised to adhere to the codes of conduct dictated by their social class’ preferred scripture, having received strict punishment for failing to hide a breach. Discretion is everything to these people. That’s why Naomi’s presence causes Carter distress. But it’s also why he’s blushing, excited to get to do something he’s only supposed to do to a mate or a very close friend at best.

Dick doesn’t even consider that Carter might not have siphoned anyone before until Carter very hesitantly puts a finger in his mouth, pulls it out to look at it, then experimentally siphons only once. He blinks thoughtfully at his finger for a moment then licks the rest of the secretion off his fingers and siphons with more surety. Then he looks at Dick with concern. “You’re not alright,” he states.

“What?!” Naomi puts down the feather-duster, turns around, and stalks up to Dick. "I apologize, Master, but I need to do this," she says and reaches out to swipe some secretion from Dick's neck to siphon it. She frowns worriedly. "Oh my. This isn't good. Haven't you been eating?"

Dick withholds a groan and smiles tightly. "I've swallowed anything you put in front of me, dear."

"Do you sleep?"

"Like a log," Dick answers. Carter sips his drink watching them through the corner of his eyes.

"Are you having lots of sex?" Naomi demands.

Carter snorts his drink and coughs.

Dick scowls. "No, I’m not. I've been busy."

"Sir, your mates―"

"They've been busy too. Everyone's busy. The Aristocrats have sped up their attempts to facilitate genocide. I don't have time to fuck around. Nobody has."

"Have you told Master Marcel about this, Sir?"

"No. I'm just tired. What's he going to do about it? It's not like he's offering. Your kind doesn't care about people. You're much more interested in acting _appropriately_ ," Dick says bitterly, then winces. "I'm sorry, dear,” he laments, instantly regretting his words. “I'm afraid that statement was borne out of bitterness towards my parents and doesn't reflect my opinions of you." He reaches out to take her hand and brings it to his face to rub his temple affectionately against it. 

"It's okay, Sir. But Master Marcel said you need to have a lot of sex. I'm sure there are a lot of Alphas that are willing―"

Dick interrupts her again, looking up to meet her gaze. "But I'm not, dear. I don't want to sleep with any person that happens to be nearby no matter if my body's yearning for it. And let's face it, dear, for all your concern, just like Marcel, you're not offering either."

Naomi flushes. "I don't have a knot, Master."

"It's not about the knot, dear. It's about hormones. Don't look at me like that. I'm not going to insist. But Marcel bid me have sex due to the chemical reactions that happen in the body. Anyone will do, regardless of their gender. The health benefits are greater with somebody I love and hold great affection for. That makes you a better candidate than most Alphas around, save my mates.”

Naomi’s cheeks turn stark crimson. Dick wishes he had a sense of smell as good as Aid, Arvid, or Marcel. Then perhaps he’d be able to discern what those mixed, faint feelings he can smell, mean.

“We’ve all been very busy, dear,” Dick goes on, “and I’ve been too tired in the evenings. I haven’t been around the right people when I’ve had opportunities. So unless you…” He turns his head to look at Carter, letting go of Naomi’s hand, “or the good Major volunteer?”

“You just said you don’t want to sleep with random Alphas,” Carter counters with a smirk, smelling of faint anxiety that doesn’t translate to his expression. There’s no trace of the rage he’s been smelling of most of the day.

“You’re a beautiful man and I’ve got a type. Sadly, most who fall into that category fight for the other side, but I’d tell a lie if I said that your aristocratic mannerism combined with your scent doesn’t send me into a tailspin,” Dick says. 

Carter’s cheeks color, belying his confident smile. He smells of excitement and nerves. “I’m flattered. But the only O that will ever know what my knot feels like inside of her, will be my mate.”

Dick huffs. “Well, darn. I’ve got far too many mates already,” he jokes, then smirks slyly. “Though your words leave a lot of leeway for interpretation, so let me reiterate, you’ve got hands. And a mouth, for that matter. It would be easy for you not to renege on your conviction and still give me full relief for the perpetual pseudo-Heat my pregnancy has put me in.” He sees the furtive look Carter throws Naomi and has to sigh. “I know you won’t. You need discretion and Naomi is either here to fawn over your beauty or put a bullet in your head should you show any inclination to a certain kind of stupidity.”

Naomi lets out an indignant gasp. “Master!” she chastises. “I resent both of those accusations,” she says, then goes back to her feather-duster. “Besides, I don’t know if he’s beautiful until he’s shown us his heart,” she adds and adjusts the gun pointedly by her belt before she starts dusting.

Carter gives her back an amused smile, while his scent gets more anxious. “I wish to survive this war. Should I lay a finger on you,” he tells Dick, “the silver-haired man waiting outside of this door would make a noose out of my own entrails to hang me by.”

Dick raises his eyebrows in surprise, then turns his head towards the door and yells, “Александр, ты слоняешься?”

“Да!” comes the muffled answer from outside.

Dick hums in content surprise. He hadn’t seen Aleksandr follow them. It’s reassuring to know he’s loitering for Dick’s safety. “How about that? You have one of those freak noses, Major?”

Carter shakes his head. “No. I’m just adept at telling when someone’s stalking me. Are you from Russia?”

“Not at all, dear. I speak several languages. I used to work as an interpreter.”

“Really? Where did you go to school?” Carter asks, jumping to faulty conclusions.

Dick fails to hide his sudden rage that makes Carter sneeze. He takes a few deep breaths to calm himself. It was a simple enough question, nothing to get enraged about. “Pardon me, dear. The pregnancy makes my temper hard to control,” he says and takes another deep breath. “I’m sure you meant no offense with your question, but I never went to school. I’m an autodidact orphan from the slums of New York.”

“You don’t sound like a New Yorker,” Carter observes guardedly.

“It served me better not to,” Dick answers. He doesn’t mind the New York accent. Laurent and Mal have it, and Antoine had a hint of it, unlike Marcel who barely has a distinguishable accent at all unless he’s exhausted and then you detect traces of his Polish heritage in his speech. The born Williamses all spoke Standard American like Dick. “Currently, I’m trying to reform the school system your social class created,” he says, calm returning as quickly as it left, “but I’m having trouble doing so because we don’t have enough literate people to manage that during the war. If we win, I intend to make school, not only free, but mandatory.”

“You intend to do away with the upper class?”

“Of course not. I believe the goals I’ve set for society will make us and others like us richer.”

A little frown wrinkles Carter’s forehead. “How? From what I’ve gathered, you’re trying to make the lower and middle class rich.”

Dick snorts and gives Carter a side-eye full of contempt. “I’ve provided them with a roof over their heads and food not to starve, guaranteeing the barest minimum of human comfort, and people, like yourself, call it ‘making the lower class rich’. You clutch your pearls and wail that people will get lazy, then ask me how anything is going to get done if people get everything they need for free. You live in estates and palaces, you ride magnificent beasts, play sports, and eat fancy dinners, and you do _nothing_ to contribute to our society. _I’m_ gathering that when your kind talks about people getting lazy when they’re provided for, you look to yourselves for an example.”

Carter opens his mouth, closes it again, and looks away. He drags a hand over his face, looks at his hand, and then sips his drink before looking back at Dick. “I hope you’ll believe my sincerity when I say I’m not clutching at my pearls. Though, my backbone reaction is to get defensive.” He reaches out with a hand and gestures with his fingers for Dick to take his hand. Dick does, and Carter strokes with a rough thumb-pad over Dick’s knuckles. “Feel that, Dick? You lumped me in with my parents and they disowned me for the grit under my nails and my asperous hands.” He pauses to hold Dick’s gaze, expression serious. Dick suddenly has a similar feeling as he had when he saw Marlon come home. He’s swooning. Aside from being one of the most beautiful men Dick’s ever seen, Carter has the poise and grace of an aristocrat, the air of competence and danger he shares with Dick’s mates, and a version of a Southern accent that’s incredibly appealing to Dick. None of that broad twang of the Teyshyas, nor the breathiness of some of Carter’s Southern peers, but he’s dropping some of his Rs and pronouncing some vowels differently while dropping the g at the end of -ing while still sounding dignified. “When I was sent to the front I found something that had been actively denied to me before: Pride in accomplishment. I’ve learned to love my country and the men and women who’ve fought by my side to protect it,” Carter says. “I have no wish to murder my countrymen.” He pauses again, briefly this time. “I know by heart the values I was raised to have. I want to understand your divergent politics, so, please, let me parrot my parents sometimes vile arguments without concluding that I still stand for their opinions.”

“Very well, dear. I apologize for reacting with vehemence. What was the question?” Dick hates his whiplash mood-swings. Constantly trying to control his temper makes his muscles tense and sore, and he’s made more tired by trying to diverge which feelings are valid and which are hormonal. Although Carter’s so handsome he might probably have wanted to sleep with him even if he wasn’t pregnant. Sort of how everyone wants to be with Aid due to his red eyes.

“How do you think you’ll get richer by providing necessities and education for free?” Carter isn’t letting go of his hand. Holding hands with an Omega is within the realms of the acceptable amongst his peers. Dick enjoys it. He tries not to focus on it. His constant pseudo-Heat is bad enough as it is. If they sent Carter to assassinate him, they sent the right man. He wonders if Naomi realized that and that’s why she’s sticking around.

“That’s easy enough. When I’ve asked the people who’ve gotten some extra cash in their pocket now that their rent is taken care of, they've all said different versions of the same thing. They’re planning to spend money. The laziness argument doesn’t hold up. The percentage of people that will be content with the barest minimum of comfort is negligible. I want to stop rigging the system and give everyone a fighting chance at a good life. If you want to get rich, all you have to do is target your consumer goods towards the greater public rather than the top one percent like the majority of the very rich do today."

"If they really wanted, they could climb themselves out of the gutter already," Carter says. It's only his curious and open expression, and his warm thumb tracing over Dick's knuckles that prevents Dick from getting pissed off again. He's heard that argument sneered by the upper class while he was campaigning.

"Could they?" Dick asks rhetorically then shakes his head. “No they can’t. Your social class was in control and you effectively put a glass roof over our heads. I know that from my own experience" Carter purses his lips and nods thoughtfully. Dick goes on. "I don't seek to make everyone rich. I simply want to remove the deliberate obstacles put in place to prevent my social class from pursuing riches. I want to remove that control. Same thing with education. If we teach everyone to read they'll be more difficult for the government to control. If everyone has a certain level of comfort and education it will be harder for any government to oppress them. Naturally, I want education to be standardized. I also want it to be secular. No god will be allowed to dictate what we learn under my governance. And if religion is taught in school, it will be taught objectively like any other subject, explaining all major faiths. None of that Conservative bullshit indoctrination going on right now."

Carter looks at Naomi as she busies herself with cleaning. "You talk as if religion is something bad and oppressive that needs to be done away with. I've often heard from Primals that The Faith is cruel and unjust towards Os. But if you ask any Conservative O if they're oppressed, they'll tell you that they're happy.”

“It’s called brainwashing, dear. How Conservatives raise their kits is abuse, plain and simple. It doesn’t matter if it’s done with the best intentions. The Conservative customs are all geared to minimize bonding, yet we’re not complete without bonds. Our health will never peak without bonds. The Conservative Faith takes away those bonds and replaces them with constant shame over what are natural reactions. We are raised to ignore natural behavior and reactions, and we’re shamed if we fail. This is detrimental to both Alphas and Omegas. All modern scriptures dictate behavior that will harm us emotionally and sometimes physically. We’re only allowed one strong bond; our mating bond. But some versions of the scripture demand the Omega act submissive to her mate even in private. And that, my beautiful new friend, is more harmful to the Alpha than the Omega if he’s a man of honor and treats her right.”

Carter frowns and tilts his head in lack of understanding, a bemused smile playing on his lips. “I’m afraid I don’t see how,” he says. He lets go of Dick’s hand only to play with Dick’s fingers, stroking them one by one by encasing them with his own fingers. It’s a very sexual, but discreet flirtation. 

“No? He’s put in a position of leadership over her at all times. Tell me, Major Carter, when you have a problem that puts a churning ball of worry in your gut, would you seek consolidation and advice from one of your Privates? If you're worth your rank you wouldn't. So if you raise your sons to think they need to be the smartest, strongest, and wisest at all times, and your daughters to think their mate always knows best and their job is to please him, and at the same time forbid them from making other strong bonds, it leaves the Alphas without support. It’s lonely at the top. It’s why packs have two leaders.”

Carter listens with a serious and interested expression.

Dick doesn’t pause long enough for Carter to speak. “My parents were very by the book. They followed the scripture to a tee. During days when I’m feeling charitable, I think they were probably good people. They loved each other and my siblings, and perhaps loved me too. Their relationship was very respectful and loving, and if you’d ask my mother if she was oppressed she'd laugh in your face. But I was born with a handicap, and their devotion to following the scripture made them unable to care for me properly. Six years later they gave up and gave me a soft fade in hopes it would kill me."

"You have a handicap?"

"Not anymore. But I did for the two first decades of my life until the Williamses cured me. And here's another thing. I'm a man. Being born a boy, I was raised from the start to be an Alpha. Progs and Primals raise their kits to be both. We, however, we try to force unnatural gender roles so hard that we have to start grooming our kits to ignore their bodily responses and feelings from the start. It makes us inflexible, cowardly, and compassionless." Dick sees Naomi tense up a little while pretending to be focused on her dusting. "I can give you an example if you’d like,” he adds.

“Please do,” Carter says. “I’ve met many Conservatives that are both brave and full of compassion.”

Dick hums. “I was born scentless. I wasn’t cured until years after I’d presented. Before that, you couldn’t even smell a gender marker on me. Anyone who met me thought I'd die within days. The example I will give you happened when I was around eighteen. I met Marlon Williams at the dance floor of an underground club and when he and Malicia, another one of our members, took a break, they dragged me along to their table where their other friends were. That’s where I met another one of my mates, Laurent. We were too far away for a proper greeting so we shook hands, and then he did something that a Conservative by our table called him brave for doing. That nobody had ever done for me before. Can you guess what that was?”

Carter shakes his head.

Dick retrieves his hand that Carter had been playing with and rubs it over his neck. “You know what this gesture means?”

“Naturally, it’s a wish to be friends.” Carter’s still holding his hand out and Dick reaches out to let him go on to play with Dick's fingers again.

"Do you consider the gesture brave? Was he brave for being ready to form a simple friendship bond with someone who he believed might die within days? When a simple friendship bond could be what kept me alive? Or was the Conservative cowardly, lacking in compassion? She was raised to prevent bonds from forming. We all were. Nudity has been sexualized to a such a degree that even small kits aren't allowed to be naked. Alphas are made to ignore their Alpha instinct and go to war while Os must stay at home trying to force an Alpha instinct, raising kits. That's if they even survive giving birth. Our sexual education consists of the Scripture's 'The Star may bless a knotted union with a kitling', but nowhere is it mentioned how or how to prevent it. Nor that we're not fully ready to become pregnant as soon as we become adults and that holding off ten years may mean the difference between living and dying. Do you know what I think? I think early matings are necessary for a Conservative,” Dick muses. “Not because the Star demands it, but because our immune system isn't complete without strong bonds and our brains have problems producing the chemicals that make us happy when we’re unbonded. We'd have no problems countering this if we self-stunt like Progs, but since Scripture demands a bonded union with a truemate, we need a strong bond as fast as humanly possible after presenting to negate our new vulnerabilities.” He closes his hand around Carter’s fingers and holds them firmly to make sure he has his full attention. “In my life, I’ve met more honest compassion, devotion, and self-sacrifice from followers of Maluk.”

The sting of anger saturates Carter’s scent. “You compare The Star to the evil god Maluk?”

“Oh no. That would be insulting Maluk, dear. He’s a meddling god who will obliterate his followers if they break his rules by sacrificing innocent lives to him. The Faith is much worse,” Dick says, watching Naomi discreetly turning to look at him and Carter going rigid. “Here’s the thing, dear,” Dick continues. “My mate Marlon is a history nerd of great proportions. For a while, he was fortunate enough to live with a very devout man of equal devotion to history, but with a special interest in The Faith. So I know the modern scriptures are nothing like the original faith. And I think, the majority of the modern Conservatives no longer worship the One and that’s why he doesn’t meddle anymore. Instead, they worship the Scripture.” Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Naomi raise her eyebrows in surprise and turn back to her work. “The modern Scripture makes for an evil religion that makes us raise our kits in an abusive manner, Carter. I’ll acknowledge that you don’t have to be evil just because you adhere to an evil religion’s rules.” He gestures towards Naomi. “Naomi is one of the warmest and most compassionate people I’ve ever had the honor to meet. To declare war on the whole designation would be wildly unjust, which is why we haven’t, unlike the other side.”

“Do you worship Maluk?” Carter asks. He doesn’t retrieve his hand when Dick lets go of his firm grip.

Dick huffs a little laugh. “Dear me, _no_. I’ve sent a prayer to him along with every other god I could think of when I was about to do something suicidally stupid, but the only god I’ve ever truly worshipped in my life, was the Star. My faith died when I overheard my parents talking about giving me a soft fade to make me die. These days Donarrion is my favorite god, but it would be a lie to say I worship him.”

“I see. You have given me much to think about.” Carter drains his glass and stands up. Dick instantly misses his rough fingers’ gentle touch. “Now, please excuse me. It’s been an exhausting day and I would like to withdraw to get some sleep.”

“Naturally, dear,” Dick says and gets up.

Carter captures Dick’s hand and bends down low to place a kiss on his knuckles while keeping eye contact. “It’s been a pleasure. Good night.”

“I’ll show Master Wadsworth to his room,” Naomi offers.

As soon as they’re gone, Dick sinks down in his armchair, once again feeling how exhausted he is. It doesn’t take long before Aiden comes into the room with a worried frown. “Naomi says there’s something wrong with you.”

“It’s fine. I’m just tired, dear,” Dick says, but nevertheless tilts his head to give access to his neck.

Aiden bends down to lick Dick’s gland, causing him to shiver. He goes to his knees to rest his forehead against Dick’s shoulder and starts siphoning.

“What’s the verdict?” Dick asks, trying to sound like he doesn’t care even if Aid no doubt tastes his worry.

“I don’t know,” Aiden admits and looks up at Dick with concerned eyes. “Something’s off. But when I try to figure out what, I can’t. Every scent individually is fine. But it’s…” he licks his lips, frowning in search of words. “It’s like listening to an orchestra and every instrument plays the tune perfectly, but one instrument is a fraction of a beat too slow, and I can’t discern what instrument, if that makes sense?”

Dick hums, not really interested in what’s supposedly wrong with him. He’s afraid that if he dwells too much on it he’ll be terrified. ”Would I be terribly out of line if I ordered you to take a lover, dearheart?” he asks instead.

Aiden’s lips quirk in a crooked smirk. He tilts his head. “Depends. Who do you want me to seduce?”

“Major Wadsworth. I want you to get under his skin, make it personal for him. Make him your lover, preferably not just for one night.”

Aiden chuckles. “Then you’re not out of line. Have you seen him? I would’ve seduced him whether you asked me or not.”

Dick makes a noise of complaint. “If they sent him to assassinate me they couldn’t have picked a better candidate. I’d like nothing more than to get him alone and shed my clothes.”

Aiden’s grin widens. “Same,” he says, even if his eyes show concern. “I guess it’s a great idea to make it personal enough for him to abandon his cause if Mar’s suspicions are true.”

Dick doesn’t have time to respond before the door opens again and Naomi comes back, now with the doctor, Aleksandr, and Jed in tow. Dick stifles a groan and sits up straight. “I’m fine. I’m just tired, that’s all. No need to get all worked up,” he says before they get a chance to speak. They stop in a semi-circle around him. The only one who neither smells nor looks concerned is Aleksandr. In a way, it’s a good thing the esteemed Commander has decided to be his personal bodyguard. Dick thinks he’d go nuts if someone who’d fuss over him was filling that role. Dick makes a frustrated sound. “Alright, fine. Do your thing,” he tells the doctor.

Aiden holds his hand through the full exam. Doc prods and squeezes, pokes, shines into his eyes with a light, looks in his mouth and ears, siphons, asks questions, and takes samples of his secretion to send to the hospital. When he’s done he shakes his head. “I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you what’s wrong. But let’s hope the samples will give us some answers. In the meantime, I think you should rest a lot. Try not to do anything straining or stressful.”

Dick gives him a deadpan look. “I’m leading a darn revolution, dear. Avoiding stress is impossible.”

“Then maybe you should step down,” Doc suggests with concern.

Dick sees red.

There’s a coordinated sneeze from several people in the room. Dick’s up and lunging for the doctor without conscious thought. Someone catches him and flings him back into the armchair. Before he can bounce back and lunge again Aleksandr roars in his face, blocking his way, keeping his mouth agape to show those massive fangs―too big to be practical, but nevertheless intimidating. It’s enough to give Dick a slight pause but not enough to soften his rage. Like at the museum, Aleksandr’s posture shows he’s defending his doctor, not attacking. It’s good, or it would’ve gotten nasty quick with both Jed and Aid on high alert, showing fangs of their own, switching between purring soothingly and growling in response to Dick’s ire, not sure where to direct their threat. Aleksandr half turns his head to speak to the doctor behind him, but his otherworldly, flared eyes remain locked on Dick. “Засранец! You not tell Main not to stress, then next breath say you take away her pack!” he scolds.

“I just meant for him to step down temporaril―” Doc starts saying.

Dick cuts him off with a roar and tries to lunge _through_ Aleksandr. 

Aleksandr pushes him back in the armchair again hard enough for him to nearly lose his breath, pinning him there with a hand fanned out over his chest. Aiden springs to his feet to attack Aleksandr.

It’s like time suddenly slows. 

Aleksandr makes an impressively― _frighteningly_ ―quick shift, one arm shooting out towards Aiden with those wicked claws catching red flares, gleaming like polished obsidian, while his head changes shape, jaws extending to fit those huge fangs, and thick, white fur growing to cover him. Jed moves on Dick’s other side, throwing himself between Aleksandr and Dick, reaching out to stop Aiden, notably with his back against Aleksandr. From this angle, with Aleksandr bent over him mouth agape focusing on Aiden, Dick sees it. Two curved snake fangs hidden behind Aleksandr’s other teeth, droplets of liquid at their tips.

For a brief moment, Dick sees with his inner eye Mila bite Antoine and Antoine falling like a felled tree. 

Now, just like then, Dick’s helpless to prevent the Siberian from biting. Jed’s sprawled over the armchair curved protectively over Dick’s belly, pinning him in place more effectively than Aleksandr’s hand.

Dick makes a terrified, primal sound of ‘ _don’t hurt him_ ’, going rigid, licking his lips.

Everyone stops moving, chests heaving. Aleksandr’s arm’s shaking, holding back Aiden’s whole body weight, claws surprisingly not digging in, only pricking Aiden at the tips. Jed’s hand touches Aiden’s chest too, but only lightly.

Dick smells fear. His own. And... Aleksandr’s? In the background, he can smell that Naomi’s afraid too but he can’t see her.

“Nobody hurt nobody, okay? We use words, yeah? Main is hormone angry, yeah? Not brain angry,” Aleksandr says, English crappier than usual. “We all make calm, yeah?” He’s focused on Aiden. “I not hurt your mate, only stop him hurting doctor. Doctor care for health, not politics, yeah? He tell us what we must to be hale, then we not do, he patch us up, call us idiot and send us back to fight, yeah? No harm.”

“Step back, Aid. It’s alright. Commander Chaadayev’s protecting both Doc, your kitling, and Dick. He’s not attacking anyone,” Jed says, slowly lowering his arm from Aiden and curling into a more comfortable position across Dick’s lap, sliding up to purr calmingly with his lips pressed to Dick’s forehead. “It’s okay, darling,” he mumbles, breastbone purr keeping its steady hum, “nobody will take your pack from you. Relax.”

Aiden abruptly takes a step back with a short growl, glaring suspiciously at Aleksandr.

Aleksandr backs up a step removing his hand from Dick’s chest too. He shifts to normal and looks at Dick. “Nobody will take your pack away, yeah? You calm enough to hear me?”

Dick went from enraged to terrified when he saw Aleksandr’s snake fangs and has no problem thinking now that the red haze is gone. He hate hate hates his whiplash mood swings. His mouth is dry so he opts to nod. When he swallows it makes a sticky sound.

Aleksandr crouches down. He smells of pain after the rapid shifting. “I got suggestion. A good leader is good leader even when dying, yeah?”

“Don’t talk about him dying,” Aiden interrupts with a growl.

“ _Aid!_ ” Jed reprimands.

Aleksandr gives Aiden a guarded glance before he goes on. “I suggest, you not campaign. You stay home, rest much. Choose helpers to keep close. Like your advisor, yeah? Others smart too. Not so many meetings. You can make orders and suggestions in writing. Even if you get worse, you can lie in bed. Someone can write and read for you when you get too tired to do it by yourself and those close to you can train to think like you for when the cub comes and you’re out.”

Aiden growls again.

Aleksandr scowls at him. “ _Ey!_ I said out, not dead. Is natural for Omega to be out when cub comes. Then you act like a good Alpha and take care of cub and mate.”

“Calm down, Aid,” Jed says and kisses Dick’s temple. 

“If you ever put your paws on him again…” Aiden threatens.

Aleksandr’s scent suddenly disappears. He flares and stands up, frowning deeply at Aiden. “You underestimate how dangerous your mate is. My job is to protect him, your cub, and make sure he doesn’t eat anyone. If I have to use force to keep everyone safe, I will. Now, _you_ , I have not sworn to protect,” he says coldly and points jerkily at Aiden.

Things could’ve escalated all over again if Dick hadn’t gotten stuck on ‘doesn’t eat anyone’ and started laughing. It draws Aiden's attention. "Dear me," Dick chuckles and reaches out for Aid, taking his hand. "It's quite alright, Aid. These fits of anger are completely irrational," he says and squeezes Aiden's hand. "Remember the servant I decked? I'd rather Aleksandr shove me onto an armchair than something like it happening again. Doc?"

"Yes, Sir?"

"I apologize. But don't suggest I step down again. I'm not letting go of my pack."

Doc chuckles and leans to the side to peek out from behind Aleksandr. "Oh, I got that, loud and clear. But I'd appreciate it if you paused your campaign to work from home where you can rest when needed."

Dick argues against it, but Jed calls veto rights. Dick's not sure if Jed can veto him, but gives in after Jed agrees to let him hold one more speech for the people, and Aid agrees to be Dick's official mouthpiece, standing in for him after that.

Dick low-key hates Lucifer for making him so weak. He tries not to show how exhausted he is, and during his next speech in Central Park, he announces that Aiden will take over his public appearances. Carter is there listening, watching the crowd but not giving away what he thinks. 

Marlon hovers around Carter often. Dick sees them sitting together during the war council, and strolling together on the premise. Carter appears to have lost most of his initial hostility towards Mar, but that can’t be said about Mar. On the other hand, Mar’s hostility doesn’t necessarily mean what it seems to mean because when Dick hides his scent and goes in search of a place to hide out undisturbed for an hour, he steps into an old storage room to find Mar and Aleksandr fooling around. There’s no doubt Mar is very affectionate and enthusiastic about it, yet when they’re seen in public Mar shows only neutrality or disdain towards Aleksandr. Aleksandr doesn’t appear to mind. Aleksandr has at least two other lovers; Marcel, and a rival merc commander who goes by Claymore but Aleksandr calls Barlow, Whittler, Butterfly, or any other type of small knife-types. (Claymore’s only 5’3”.) Arvid tells Dick they’ve been fighting against Claymore’s company as often as alongside them and Aleksandr and Claymore have been occasional bedmates as long as Arvid remembers but the affair is very casual. Mar hates Claymore with a passion. So maybe Mar’s hostility towards Carter is a symptom of attraction?

Aiden seduces Carter with ease and tells Dick he really likes the guy. He’s the only regular out-pack lover Aiden takes. Dick watches Carter way too much. The man will blush if an O comes on to him too blatantly, but his Conservative grace turns suave and fluid when an Alpha does it. Dick wants him. If he can’t have him physically, he wants him politically. No matter how often Dick talks to him, he can’t pin down his political opinions. And it’s a waste of good alcohol to try to get the guy drunk. As soon as he’s getting a bit loose around the edges he excuses himself. If Dick were drinking himself, it would’ve been easier. Like Carter said the first night, he’s suspicious when he's drinking with someone sober. Dick has to figure something out. But he will. He’s sure of it.

* * *


	34. Master Manipulator

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick's pulling strings making puppets dance. But his talent for identifying what to say to manipulate people doesn't come paired with the foresight of all the consequences it can have to the people he makes dance to his tune. He has to learn where to draw the line not to hurt people he cares about.

* * *

“Commander?” Arvid comes into the kitchen hesitantly, looking unsure but smelling of excitement and nerves.

Aleksandr, Marcel, Laurent, Mal, Aiden, Frederick, Sandra, and Dick are eating by a table in here instead of outside in the dining hall because Dick wants privacy but doesn’t want to be alone.

Aleksandr looks up, raising his eyebrows in question.

Arvid stops some way away from the table, visibly squirming. “I know I swore my life to you when you saved me. But I’d like to ask permission to leave the company,” he says and holds his breath. Aleksandr’s quiet. He just blinks slowly - a gesture that means nothing within the context. Arvid huffs a nervous laugh and rubs his neck. “Ares asked permission to court me for mateship?” he clarifies, sounding as if he found it surprising. “I want to say yes, but my previous engagement to you forbids me. So, I was hoping, you’d, uh, you’d let me go,” he finishes, raising his eyebrows hopefully.

Aleksandr slowly frowns with a small headshake. “Did you hit your head again, Captain? I know you to be fool-hearty, but not stupid. Is this news to you? I knew you were mating Ares for years. How you not know this?”

Arvid blinks rapidly in confusion while Marcel leans closer to Aleksandr to quietly say, “Foolhardy is the word.” Aleksandr mumbles thanks in response while keeping his gaze on Arvid.

“Does that―” Arvid’s voice croaks, and he clears his throat. “Does that mean I'm free to say yes?"

Aleksandr chuckles. "When heart calls you follow, yeah? Let the pretty, little Alpha boy make you happy."

Aiden sniggers and mumbles 'pretty little Alpha boy' under his breath. 

Arvid grins brightly, then he looks at Dick, straightening his back, trying to (and failing) to look serious and formal. "I'd like to earn membership in your pack. And I hope you are okay with having me as a co-mate."

Dick smirks. "If you think I had any plans to let you ever wander off again, I too would have to call you an idiot, dear. I've anxiously awaited the day I'd get to smell shared bonds on you."

Everyone around the table smells happy, smiling at Arvid. Even Aleksandr, despite losing a Captain.

Arvid chirps and trills then turns to Laurent. "Marlon has a proposition for you. He's in his room waiting for you," he says, now with a cheeky glint in his eyes, almost bouncing on his heels.

Laurent raises his eyebrows in surprise. "He wants to talk to me? About what?"

Arvid makes a dismissive gesture and shrugs. "Oh, nothing. It's something that if you want it, he'll allow it. Me too, for that matter." His lips keep twitching as if he’s trying not to smile.

Laurent gets up with a puzzled frown.

When he leaves the room, Mal looks at Arvid. "Is it about Laurent and you getting mated too?"

Arvid scratches behind his ear. "If he wants to. I'm definitely up for it, but I won't take anything for grant―whoa, whoa, hey!” He waggles his palms in front of him in a stop-gesture. “You don't need to cry. Whelp. You _do_ need to cry. Right. Okay. Crying it is," he says with the widest grin, blinking tears out of his eyes.

Mal presses a hand over her mouth, eyes glossing over her eyes as soon as Arvid utters the first sentence. Within seconds she's bawling with a chuckling Frederick holding her. Just like Arvid, Marcel's blinking tears out of his eyes. Aiden has closed his eyes altogether but is grinning, emitting small, joyous chirps Dick's rarely heard from him. He thinks it's funny that the smell of Mal's happiness is so strong it overflows physically into the most sensitive noses in here. Aleksandr isn't crying, but then again, his sense of smell works differently than the others. Dick had asked him why he never asks to siphon a health check (Dick was annoyed by having him like a tail at the time), and the Commander answered that he couldn't smell the same things as wolfcats.

Later, when Dick leaves the room, Aiden joins him with a pinched expression. Dick raises an eyebrow at him. Aiden shakes his head. “I nearly ruined Mal’s life.”

“By all means, don’t expand on that,” Dick says dryly.

“She’s cured.” Aiden shakes his head again, looking both bewildered and troubled. “I didn’t think it was possible. I kept measuring her against Mar, and he’s, well, he’s as messed up as he ever was, just happier more often. But Mal? She used to be as out of whack as him, if not more. And when he started sneaking out to go to the Sanctuary, he had a thing for her.”

“Really?” That’s news to Dick. “He never told me that.”

“No. I don’t think he remembers,” Aiden muses. “But I do. Laurent loves her, so Mar decided he liked her by default. That made him attentive towards her, which in turn made him discover that he actually liked her personality.” Aiden turns his head to meet Dick’s gaze. “It’s hard for me to be around people like Mar and Mal. They suppress feelings that I can still smell, but since they suppress them, they don’t deal with them, and it gets worse.” They pass a few delegates from other packs, and both Aid and Dick quiet down to smile and nod greetings. Once they’re alone again, Aid goes on. “I never realized that for Mal, it was circumstances outside of her making her suppress her feelings. I thought she was like Mar. I believed that, when they came of age, Mar and she would get mated if I didn’t do something to stop it. So… I did. I intentionally sabotaged their friendship until Mar no longer allowed himself any warmer feelings for her. And you know how he is with his, ‘I have decided’...” He gives Dick a regretful look.

Dick’s shocked. “Surely, someone must have noticed…”

Aiden shakes his head. “I’m calm and charming, she’s vehement and reactionary. _She_ definitely noticed. But to the outside world, it looked like she spat vitriol on me for no reason, and everyone kept telling her she was exaggerating or being unjust. Then I blocked her and Laurent from joining us. If it had just been Laurent… But the way I spun it, there was no way we’d take them both in. And now…?” He looks back in the direction they came from. “She still gets mad and sad sometimes, but there’s no trace of the madness she and Mar used to share.”

“Maybe it’s the pregnancy…?” Dick offers dubiously.

Aid huffs and shakes his head with an amused quirk to his lips. “No. I’ve been around pregnant Os often enough to know it isn’t a cure-all.” He shakes his head again. “You know the worst part? She wasn’t as bad when we met. Then she got worse and worse. I think… I think she started getting better again after she woke up from mourning Knuckles with you. Which definitely means it’s those repressed feelings that were damaging her. I’ve always _liked_ her. If I hadn’t been such a dumb guano-brain, we’d have taken her in, and she’d been fine. Instead, I made her worse. I could’ve ruined her life completely. It’s eating at me. I’m a crap person.”

“No, you’re not, dear. You’re a good person who does crappy things sometimes.” Although, if Dick had found this out years ago, he might have hated Aid with a passion.

“I did the same thing to Knuckles when he saw me kiss you. And he was a joy to be around, scent-wise. He was so stable. Laurent isn’t far behind, but Knuckles took the prize. To think that was all Marcel’s doing? You’d never believe Marcel can give someone that level of self-assurance. Especially not when Marcel is toiling under so many old hurts himself. Then again, Marcel might never be truly content, but he’s as stable as they come. You know what I’ve disc―”

“Why aren’t we mated?” Dick asks, interrupting Aiden. Mind still on what transpired in the kitchen.

Aiden sucks in a breath and looks at him with a troubled frown. He swallows. “You’re struggling to keep up with four mates already,” he points out.

“Yes, but I give you as much time as my other mates," Dick argues.

Aid grimaces and averts his gaze. "Maybe when the war is over. There's so much going on right now. And Mar―"

"Screw Mar. This is about us. You're about to be the father of my kit. I love you." Dick puts out his arm to stop Aiden then turns to face him. “Aid. You’re madly in love with me,” he states as if it was a well-known fact and not something Dick questions far too often, even if it’s only Aiden’s refusal to give him unquestionable, verbal confirmation that makes him doubt. Aiden opens his mouth to speak, but Dick presses a finger over his lips to stop him. “Everyone knows you are, I included. As luck would have it, those feelings are returned. But according to you, you ‘don’t get sweet on people.’ If you did, you’d have to drop the responsibility for Mar’s well-being, and you’ve been trying to protect him for so long you don’t know how to stop. You’re not even doing it for him anymore. He doesn’t need you.” Aiden visibly winces, but Dick goes on undeterred. “He’s got mates and kits. He’s got his best friend by his side, unwavering support, hobbies he’s passionate about, love, and respect. Of course, he’s got issues. All of us have issues. But it doesn’t have to be you who helps him. In fact, you might frequently do the opposite.”

“Hey!”

“No. You just admitted to having sabotaged Mar’s friendship with Mal, which probably isn’t the only time you’ve interfered. And you know something else Mar has aside from the things I listed? A burning desire to see his loved ones happy. He didn’t decide to let Laurent share Arvid because he loves to share; he did it because he loves to see those he cares about happy. That extends to you. If you adapt to him all the time, you won’t _be_ happy, piling on a sense of perpetual failure on your brother’s shoulders.” Dick should get an award for the massive load of bullshit he could conjure on the spot. Aiden opens and closes his mouth like a fish, smelling increasingly anxious. Dick dusts imaginary lint off Aiden’s shoulder then rests his hands on Aiden’s chest, looking up at him coyly through his lashes. “Besides, a smart guy I know told me that if you suppress your emotion for too long, it will change your scent permanently, and you won’t be able to do anything about it until you stop suppressing those feelings. Who knows, dear? Ten years down the line, I might find your scent so repugnant I won’t want to mate you, and your problem will be solved.”

Aiden snorts, lowering his eyelids skeptically. 

“No,” Dick says and rests his cheek against Aiden’s chest, surprised to hear how fast Aid’s heart’s beating. “I don’t believe so either, dearheart. I believe I’ll be irrevocably in love with you for as long as we both live, and then love you still beyond the veil."

Aiden wraps his arms around Dick and kisses the crown of his hair. He always does it. If Dick’s close enough, he’ll wrap his arms around him, touch him gently, or briefly. He _shows_ his love. Dick’s not sure why he so desperately wants Aid to say ‘I’m in love with you and I want to mate you’ when his actions speak so loudly for him. Dick closes his eyes, focusing on the warmth, the utter sense of security he gets in Aiden’s arms. "I―" Aiden swallows, hesitates, then laughs awkwardly. “Why do you always ask for words that lodge like barbed wire in my throat?” he mumbles into Dick’s hair.

Someone comes running. Dick hears it but doesn’t bother to open his eyes. His Alpha can deal with it. Let someone else be in control for once.

“Aiden! Sean’s back! You’re needed in the war room!”

Dick sighs in defeat, opens his eyes, and steps back. Aiden doesn't want to let him go, hands sliding down Dick's arms to briefly hold his hands and give them a squeeze before letting go. “We’ll come to find you later, okay?” Aiden says, eyes perpetually concerned these days. 

“Naturally, dear. If Sean doesn’t come to me as soon as he’s free, I’ll lop his balls off and eat them for breakfast.”

Aiden chuckles. “I’ll let him know,” he says, winks, and turns to follow the person sent to get him.

Dick sighs again. He’d like nothing more to run to the war room and throw himself in Sean’s arms. His mate’s been gone far too long, fighting. In a perfect world, Dick wouldn’t have gone so accustomed to the ball of worry in his gut that he barely thought about it being there until the small moments of relief. 

He starts walking. As he’s passing a corridor, he jerks in fright when he sees movement in the corner of his eye. It’s Marcel standing there, smirking. He claps his hands quietly. Dick can’t decide if it’s mocking. “Bravo. That was masterful,” Marcel says, eyes glittering with amusement under hooded lids. “Your talent for mind-bending is astounding.”

“You’ve been standing there for long?” Dick asks, giving himself a shake trying to calm his racing heart. 

Marcel releases his scent. “Long enough to see you fling your red-eyed admirer into a crisis of identity. Quite like you flung the respectable miss Naomi into a crisis of faith.”

“I did? When?” Dick asks and hooks his arm under Marcel’s to lead him away. He has approximately three hours that he’s supposed to devote to paperwork before his next meeting. But he can ask Marcel for help with that, gaining for himself company and time for a nap.

“It was something you said to Major Wadsworth about worshipping the Scripture, not the god.”

“She told you that?”

“In a manner of speaking. She came to my room last night. She rarely disturbs me that late, and she was very ambivalent about it. She tried to hide that she was distraught. I spoke to her about nothings at first, trying to make her comfortable. She asked me why I decided to never get mated. When I told her I’ve been mated and that my mate and son are dead, she was surprised, but for some reason, it made her reevaluate me.”

“Hmm. Perhaps she knows you’re fucking around, and if your truemate is already dead, she thinks it’s suddenly okay?” Dick muses.

Marcel shrugs. “Could be. Either way, she started asking me many questions about the Scripture, my faith, why I was so accepting of packrunning, and so on. Then it slipped out. She told me she couldn’t let go of what you’d said. Apparently, she’s been badgering your possessive mate to tell her everything he knows about the original faith as well. She’s worrying that you’re right, and by following the Scripture, she’s alienating the god she wants to honor.”

“What did you tell her?”

Marcel smirks. “That’s between her and me.” Dick gives him a dark look, and Marcel chuckles. “My advice is to not push her unless she comes to you. You want her as a permanent fixture, so gentle steering will work best in the long run, not crude manipulation. I’ll do my best to push her towards you.”

“Appreciated.” Dick _does_ appreciate it, but it’s irksome that Marcel tells him some parts and leaves out the juicy bits just because he knows it’ll bug Dick. “Are you sleeping with her?”

Marcel bursts into laughter. “No. Oh, no, no, no. She would never allow it.” He leans closer to Dick and lowers his voice as if divulging a secret. “But she did ask me if I thought the One frowns upon same-gender sex, and if it’s true that sex with anyone would help your health, Alpha or Omega.” He leans back and smirks meaningfully at Dick.

Dick hums in pleasant surprise. Now wouldn’t that be nice? She might soon be part of the pack and she won’t even see it coming.

“You know why you and Aiden aren’t mated yet?” Marcel says as they turn to walk up the stairs.

Dick puts Naomi out of his mind and sighs. “I’m presuming either that he’s immune or that he’s resisting.”

Marcel smirks and shakes his head. He enjoys drama far too much. “Half-right. You’re both equally juberous. If only one of you was resisting, you’d be mated by now considering your behavior and frequent intercourse.”

Dick tasks. “I’m not resisting. I’m carrying his kit. We should be mated.”

“Should you? Says who?” Marcel asks with evident amusement.

“We love each other.” Dick hears how petulant he sounds, but he can’t help it.

“Oh, I’m not refuting that. But consider it for a moment. You’re under a lot of stress. You’ve got four mates of which only one of whom you made a conscious decision to mate beforehand. You and Laurent had talked about it several times, and the love you had for each other was mutually verbally confirmed several times for years. You have a profound trust in each other. Taking a mating bond was natural and easy. I presume you and Mar would have mated with the same ease if there had been time enough. Instead, the mating was rushed, and you had to repair trust between each other after the bond was already in place. It’s not ideal. Your other two mates had to steal your pack from you to prevent you from getting wanderlust. Now you’re still struggling, trying to come to terms with several mating bonds and what they represent. Hence, you’re resisting the formation of any other mating bonds.”

Dick hums thoughtfully. He's settled with his bonds and loves all his mates, but there are times when he wishes he could have gotten to know them beforehand. He thinks it would have been easier for him to mate them one by one, years apart. He has no doubt he’d have fallen in love with them even if things had taken time.

“Now, consider your tall, dashing, red-eyed friend,” Marcel goes on. “He’s unequivocal on what a mating bond represents to him. Anyone, including Aiden, knows that if he’s going to get mated, it’s to you. But.”

“But?” Dick says impatiently.

“But to him, a mating bond represents breaking an unspoken oath. It’s overcoming a geas that’s become ingrained in his personality. You might not think so, but out of all Williamses, Aiden is the one with the most romantic notions of what a mating bond represents. He doesn’t believe in truemates as in a single person created for you, but he has a more firm belief in full devotion to your mate than even the respectable Miss Naomi. The day he gets mated, he'll transfer his devotion from Marlon, onto his mate - _you_. Do you really want him to rush that?”

No. That would be terrible. Dick hated how he’d gotten mated to Jed, Sean, and Marlon, even if he loved them unquestionably today. If he could go back in time and mate them all one at a time over the span of years after long courtships, he’d do so in a heartbeat. “Oh dear. I should go apologize,” Dick says and turns around.

Marcel grabs him and turns him back in their previous direction with a small jerk. “If you apologize, he’ll think you didn’t mean those words, and they’ll no longer carry weight with him. You said many things he needed to hear and come to terms with. Let him dwell. That boy will do well to realize his own happiness is equally as important as his brother’s. Simply give him time. He made a good point as well. Wait until the war is won, and you’ve survived the birthing of his kit. Let things cool down around you. Then allow the courting process to begin naturally and with no rush. I believe both of you will benefit from it. Besides, if you die giving birth, the bond-loss will be devastating to him. As it is, Sean is the one who’d take the hardest hit, physically. But he’s in a constant state of anticipating death, so he’s prepared.”

“You’re always a ray of sunshine, aren’t you?” Dick complains.

Marcel stops him on the next landing and turns to face him with an unusually soft smile, putting a crooked finger under his chin to gently tilt his head up. “Give him the time he needs, kitty-heart. You give him time, and you’ll get to experience how a mating bond should be forged.”

Dick looks up into those dark, brown eyes for several seconds, feeling strangely vulnerable and safe. Then he frowns and scrunches up his nose. “I’m sorry, dear, the kind, fatherly thing you’re going for doesn’t really work for you. But nice try,” he lies.

Marcel laughs, eyes gleaming impishly. “Fair enough. My room or your office?” he asks and makes a sweeping motion that takes in the next set of stairs and their corridor.

“My office. We’ve got actual work to do,” Dick answers and heads for the next flight of stairs without waiting for Marcel to follow.

* * *

“If you don’t like my writing, just say so! I’m a big boy. I can take it,” Marlon comes striding into the kitchen with his nose in the air, smelling annoyed and looking insulted.

Jason comes jogging behind him. “No, no, no, that’s _not_ what I was saying. Don’t act like a diva. I _said_ it wasn’t believable. Anyone who’s been in that position would know you’re shooting from the hip, making it up. Not because you’re a bad writer, but because the facts are badly inaccurate. It’s still a good story, only it veered into fantasy land.”

“Is there a problem?” Dick asks, discreetly putting his bread on Aleksandr’s plate while everyone’s distracted by Mar and Jay’s arrival. He’s barely had an appetite for weeks, but a few days ago, he started getting nauseated by food. Around the same time, he got his first insane craving. Sadly, it’s for something the Williams kitchen can’t provide and that he’s too ashamed to ask for.

Aleksandr notices his food-shifting, but simply picks up the bun and takes a bite.

“There’s no problem. He just doesn’t like my writing. It’s fine. We can get someone else to write the book,” Mar answers snippily.

Jay goes cross-eyed behind Mar’s back in a gesture of frustration. “Still _not_ what I said.”

“What did you say, Jason?” Jane asks, ever the peacemaker.

“I said his portrayal of my time in the orphanage wasn’t believable. It’s still a great story and had me enraptured, but it’s not remotely realistic.”

Dick shares a look with Marcel across the table, suddenly excited. He can see the faint dimple on Marcel’s cheek dig in, the two of them thinking the same thing. “That’s a good thing, dear,” Dick says, turning in his chair to smile at Jay. “You finally get your wish.”

Jay frowns, one eye narrowing suspiciously. “What do you mean?”

“You keep saying you don’t want anything to do with the name Foster. If the account of your alleged stay there is as unrealistic as you say, no real Foster that reads or hears the story will believe it, and they’ll spread the word. It’ll be as if it never happened to you, and you’ll finally be free of the stamp,” Dick says, trying not to purr.

“I think I know of a couple of Fosters. I’ll make sure the book is read to them,” Marcel suggests. “Then you can tell the press it was exaggerations made by the author and that you’ve never been to an orphanage. Tell them the author took liberties. The awful experiences you had for two years and the scars they caused will be stricken from the record. You’ll no longer have a claim to the Foster-burden. It’ll be nothing but a fraud someone wrote about you to enhance your accomplishments.”

For a moment, Jay looks like he’s been slapped. He looks between Marcel and Dick’s blithe smiles, then to Jane, Aleksandr, Jed, Aiden, Mar, Sean. His mouth closes and compresses into a thin line, his chest heaves, and his cheeks darken. He flares his lemon yellow and looks at Dick and Marcel. “I see what you’re doing. _Fine._ You get your wish and I’ll take the damned name. I am Jason Foster Williams. On one condition. We’re adopting one kit. _One_. I pick who, and you’re all coming with me. All of you. Is that clear?” He points accusingly at the whole table, then squeezes his eyes shut with a grimace, wincing a little. When he opens his eyes again, he looks at Jane. “Maybe not you. I know you’re the driving force behind all the donations to the orphanages from your pack. I don’t think you should see how the money wasn’t spent. You’re too good for it.”

“The better reason to see what you want to show us, Jay,” Jane says seriously.

“Okay.” Jay points at Mar. “You. You get to see exactly how I lived, and I’ll answer any questions you need to write the chapter as authentic as it can get. But while we’re there, you keep quiet.” He points at all of them. “You all keep quiet while we’re there. I’ll pick a kit, we go home, and you’ll give him the kithood I never got a chance at. But we only adopt one kit, or I’m not doing it. Understood?”

They all agree, somewhat bewildered. Jay tells them they’ll leave in thirty minutes then stalks out of the room without grabbing something to eat. When they meet up in the entrance hall, Jay’s changed into his black uniform, looking like a dark thunder cloud, wearing his gun and saber at his belt. Dick struggles to control his reaction. Jay, in his uniform, always sparks his pseudo-Heat to flare up. “He’s put on mental armor,” Marcel remarks quietly to Dick.

On the way out, they pass one of the journalists on the premises. Jason hooks his fingers in the man’s collar and pulls him along backward several steps before the man manages to turn himself to walk the right way beside Jay. “You’re coming with us,” Jay simply says. 

They take a military truck, sitting on the floor hidden by the canvas walls, a Merc driving. Jay’s simmering with low-key anger. He glares at Dick and Marcel. “I see clearly what you’re doing. Sometimes you’re too smart for your own good, and I hate it.”

“You could’ve let go of the name and let Marlon’s version remain intact,” Marcel points out smoothly.

“No, I can’t. And you damn well know it,” Jay says tightly. “Everything that happened after my time at the orphanage is colored by it. Everything in that damn book would ring fraudulently if that part doesn’t hold up. You’d take away half of who I am.”

Aleksandr, usually a silent presence, tssks. “No. They say own it. Weaponize it. _You_ deny that part of you. Now they show you why you can’t.”

“It’s not just the label, Commander,” Jay says through gritted teeth. “I’m ashamed and furious about what was done to me. I still have nightmares about it. I’ve worked so hard to reclaim what they destroyed, and knowing I’m about to come face-to-face with my past makes me want to throw up.” He looks at the confused journalist sitting in the corner with a small notebook and pen in his hand. “Abraham, I’m a Foster. My family has pushed for me to admit it publicly. I brought you along for transparency, but that transparency is minimal. Today, I’ll show my family what being a Foster really means. We’re going to adopt one kit; me. There’s always at least one of me at one of the orphanages, and if we don’t find me at the first, we’ll continue to the next and the next until I find me. Then, in a week or two, I’ll start cleaning up the orphanages like I’m cleaning out the slave dens. But today, all you’ll do is observe. Anything you write about me and what I do at the orphanages today, you need to clear with me first, you got that? If you don’t accept that, we’ll stop the truck, and you get off right this minute.”

“You know me, Big Jay,” the journalist, Abraham, says. Dick has no idea how Jay manages to keep track of all their names, but Jay’s made himself their love-kit and keeps track of all of the journalists. “I’m not writing lies, but I’ll let you cross out whatever you want, like always.”

“This time, I might actually cross something out,” Jay mutters and drags a hand over his face.

The journey is mostly silent. They stop by a nondescript three-story house and get out. As cold and hard as when he does any of his slave-raids, Jay leads the way through one of the entrances. Inside there’s an unpleasant smelling foyer, a table, and a bored-looking O knitting by the table. Her eyes widen when they enter, and she stands up. “Who are you? You’re not permitted to be in here. I―”

Jay draws his gun and points it coldly at her. “Tell me no again,” he says as if he wants her to give him a reason to pull the trigger.

She holds up her hands in surrender and slowly sinks down on her chair.

“Give me your keys,” Jay instructs.

She swallows and unclips a keyring from her belt, sliding it over the table.

Jay grabs it and heads for the worn stone stairs, like she ceased to exist for him.

Everyone but Aleksandr follows. Dick throws a glance back to see Aleksandr frisk the O before they turn the corner to the next set of stairs. At the third landing, Jay stops and turns towards them. His eyes have gone dead, cold, and devoid of feelings. “The first floor holds a kitchen, storage, and staff rooms. The second floor holds the younger kits and kitlings. In here,” he gestures at the door, “they keep older kits and Juvies. Don’t ask me what happens to the older Juvies. I don’t know.”

He unlocks and steps inside as soon as Aleksandr has made it upstairs to join them. They enter into a mostly bare room with crates along the wall. The putrid stench hits them like a wall. It’s a mix of rot, dirt, sweat, feces, urine, vomit, sickness, and death. Jay walks right through unbothered and unlocks the next door. The smell’s even worse in there. It’s a room with another table and crates. There are strange poles with a wire loop at the top, hanging on the wall. Thick leather gloves and a sturdy apron lie on a box. There are containers with what Dick suspects is ‘food’ in different stages of edible. There’s a door made of metal bars on the side of the room. They can’t see into it from here, but the stench is coming from there.

There’s another O sitting idly by the table. She’s nearly scentless and looks up at them with empty eyes and a pleading expression. Dick knows without a doubt that this woman is much closer to death than he ever was when he was living on the street. She’s healthy and well-fed, but sorrow has hollowed out the spark needed to live.

Jay takes a few more steps inside so he can throw a look through the steel-bar door, then turns to face his companions. “This is what happens when we get people who care about us,” he says, pointing both at the woman by the table and at something inside the door. “They try to make things better and fail. After that, they start wilting. The ones who are stupid enough to stay inside with us to offer comfort tend to die. If they should somehow manage to better our conditions, more kits will be sent here until things go back to normal. We’re not meant to survive,” he says. He turns towards a barrel, opens the lid, and takes a scoop hanging on the wall above it. He scoops up something that looks like pellets of some kind and smells of grease, nuts, seeds, and dried fruit. Then he unlocks the steel-bar door and steps inside. They follow him to see that he’s standing inside a cage, protecting him from the rest of the large room. Behind Dick, Jane gasps and stifles a sniffle. Mar suddenly reeks of anger. There are so many dirty, starving kits in dire need of help inside. No furniture. Two rotting mattresses on the floor and old, moldy straw. An Alpha sits by a wall, staring vacantly at nothing, cradling as many kits as he can. He’s scentless, and chances are, in a few days, he won’t be there anymore. Dick spots the dead body of a kit in the press of dirty bodies.

It’s suddenly crystal clear why Jay considered slavery equal to saving kits.

Two years of this. Jay had survived two years of this.

“When a flatfoot nabs you on the street, there’s always a chance they’ll adopt you rather than leave you to an orphanage. Most don’t know exactly how bad it is in here, but they know it’s bad,” Jay says. “You get nabbed as an older Juvie, they’ll arrest you and charge you as an adult, and unless you’ve experienced an orphanage, you won’t know they’re doing you a favor. But some cops don’t care. They get a tip when they drop a kit off, and the person working downstairs is always chummy with the cops, adept at talking them out of coming up to see for themselves,” Jay says. “Even those cops that went into law enforcement wanting to help people are fooled into thinking they are.” He bangs on the cage and raises his voice to get the attention of the kits. “Chow!” Then he throws the pellets through the bars with an expectant expression.

The kits scramble to pick pellets off the dirty floor, but there’s surprisingly little fighting for it. Dick would’ve been clawing, biting, and probably swallowing any bit of other kits trying to get at the food before him if he’d been put in here as a kit.

Jay looks disappointed. He shakes his head, scoops up two more scoops of pellets that he throws inside, then hangs the scoop back on the wall. He points at a little red-haired girl inside with large green eyes, freckles, and chubby cheeks. “See her? She can’t have been here for long. During one of the weekly or bi-weekly rounds, she’ll be picked up and moved to one of the official orphanages that you get to visit when they trawl for donations. She’s cute and sweet and well-behaved. But I’m not in here, so let’s move on.”

Jay locks the doors after them when they leave. Downstairs he throws the keys at the table. Dick can’t help but throw a look at the woman sitting by the table. Her head’s tipped back towards the ceiling, and she has an expression of ecstasy, but her lips are blue, and her skin is sickly pale like it wasn’t when they entered. If Dick didn’t know better, he’d say she was anemic.

The ride to the next address Jay gives the driver is silent apart from sneezing. Jane is fuming, shifting to claws that she digs into her palms, before shifting back, over and over with the smell of pain it causes her. But she keeps quiet. 

The arrival at the next place is an exact repeat of the first place, Jay pulling a gun telling the O in the foyer to tell him ‘no’ when she tries to stop them from going up. She doesn’t, and Aleksandr stays behind while they head on up.

In this place, two Os are playing cards by the table upstairs. Their eyes are dead too, but these women aren’t fading. They’re dead like Jay was dead, working as a Snatcher; desensitized to the suffering of others. They look up when Jay and his company enter, but apart from looking at them curiously, the Os don’t pay them much heed.

Jay ignores them to take another scoop of pellets from a barrel. He steps into the cage, bangs the bars to get attention. “Chow!” he yells and throws the pellets inside.

All hell breaks loose. There’s growling and hissing as a dark streak launches itself towards the pellets and lands, making kits and Juvies scatter, some of them pressing themselves against the walls, bending their heads, licking their lips, smelling of fear. 

It’s a girl, hair matted into dirty, unkempt dreads, long fangs and sharp teeth displayed threateningly, snarling at anyone who dares be too close, her perfect, sunflower flare bright. She picks the pellets up as quickly as she can, stuffing them in her mouth while looking around, growling and hissing in all directions, swallowing without chewing.

Jay’s lips curve into a satisfied smirk. “There I am. Mar, come over here and take a closer look. That’s me. If you’re going to write about me, this is what you need to write,” he says and points at the feral girl. He twists his head to look at the card players. “How long has Sunflower been here? About five, six months?”

“Eight, I think,” one of the Os answers.

Jay hums and turns back to Mar, who’s staring at the girl, clenching and unclenching his jaw. “I think it took me about three months before I started to go feral. Look at her, Mar. She’s me.”

The girl has turned their way, crouched down, looking at them suspiciously like a street dog who never knows if he’s gonna be hunted or fed if he comes too close. She’s so dirty it’s hard to tell what shade of dark her skin is underneath, but her teeth are startling white and of good quality compared to some of the other kits. Dick wonders if it’s because she keeps shifting them.

Jay backs Mar back out of the cage, then grabs one of the metal poles with a wire-loop from the wall. He refills the scoop and goes to throw the pellets inside. He sticks the pole inside a horizontal opening in the door and quickly loops the wire around the girl’s head when she dives for the pellets. He uses a small lever on the pole―a catching pole, Dick realizes―to tighten the loop around her throat. She instantly starts to struggle, scratching at the pole with claws, squirming, and pulling. Jed has to put a hand on Jane’s shoulder, so she doesn’t intervene.

“Stop!” Jay commands. “The more you struggle, the tighter it gets,” he tells the girl and unlocks the cage door. There’s a gap at the edge of the door for the horizontal opening, just for this purpose, so when the door swings open, Jay can pull the girl and the pole through it without removing the pole. She tries to claw at him, hissing and spitting, but he keeps her at arm’s length by the pole, focusing on shutting and locking the door before bringing her out in the room where he uses the pole to slam her against the wall. “Stop struggling. You’ll make it worse,” he tells her, ignoring her growls. She stops struggling but keeps snarling, showing her teeth. Her gaze falls on something behind Jay. Her eyes widen with a burst of fear, and she licks her lips, still showing her fangs. Dick turns his head to see what she’s looking at and spots Aleksandr flaring, showing his formidable fangs in a silent, passive threat.

“That’s better. Can you still understand English?” Jason asks.

Up until now, Dick hasn’t felt very surprised or shocked at what he’s seen. Mostly, he’s felt gratitude over avoiding ending up at a place like this. But there’s something about that question that rattles him to the core. ‘Can you _still_ understand English?’ How feral do you have to go to lose your language? Had Jay lost his ability to understand English? It’s the stuff of nightmares for someone like Dick.

“Do you understand what I’m saying?” Jay asks again. The girl growls a warning. “Just nod for yes if you understand me.”

The girl hesitates for a beat then gives a sharp nod.

Jay gives her a tight smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Good. Then this is going to be so much easier. We’re about to adopt you. We’ll take you to our home. You’ll get fed. After that, I’ll cut that filthy hair off, and then you’ll get a bath. With warm water. And soap. I’ll help scrub you until you’re squeaky clean.”

At the mention of a bath, the girl’s eyes get a greedy gleam in them. She starts smelling of excitement, fear, and anxiety. Excited at the prospect of being clean, frightened of being fooled.

Jay looks at Mar. “My priority would’ve been the bath. I hated the dirt. It itches like crazy. Some days it took all my focus to not scratch. If you scratch, you bleed, and if you got sores, they could get infected. Way too many kits die of infections in here. I didn’t have much, but I’ve always had self-discipline.” He looks back at the girl. “Do you have a name?” When she doesn’t answer, he repeats the question with primal sounds. This time she does answer: “ _Mrrt?_ ” She doesn’t know. Jane makes a hurt noise and covers her mouth with a hand.

“You know what a name is?” Jay asks, getting a stiff nod in response. “Good. My name is Jason Foster Williams. Your name is Sunflower Foster Williams. You may change your first name if you remember your real name, but we’ll call you Sunflower for now. Understood?”

She nods.

“Good. I’m going to loosen the wire a bit. As long as you don’t struggle, I won’t tighten it again. I’ll keep you poled while we travel for the safety of my companions and you.”

When they leave, one of the card-playing Os says, “Good luck, youngin!” The other one chimes in, “Go forth and flourish, little Wolfcat.”

Somehow, it surprises Dick. 

The woman by the entrance is dying. She’s slumped in her chair with a blissful smile on her ashen, blue-lipped face. Sunflower growls a wild threat at her, keeping her gaze at the woman from the moment she becomes visible to when they’ve exited. Jay chuckles. “We always remember those who were cruel or mistreated us willingly. After a couple of months, we stopped hating those that showed indifference, like the pair upstairs. They had reliability to them. If there was food, they’d give it to us at the assigned feeding hours like clockwork. The pair you saw at the first orphanage? I recognized the care in people like them, but in a way, they could be worse. They’d try to stop me from eating every scrap I could get. They want to make sure everyone eats. And then comes the moment they start to fade. When they do, they can no longer tell time and won’t be reliable keepers. I learned not to get attached,” he says as he loads Sunflower onto the truck, still leading her by the catching pole.

They have to wait a moment before starting the journey home because Aiden is outside throwing up. When he gets in, Dick reaches for him to hold his hand on the way home. He guesses he’ll have to spend the evening convincing Aid that this isn’t his fault. The way Jane’s cooped up under Jed’s arm, maybe he’ll have to convince her of the same thing. It isn’t their fault. The Williamses are big donors to the Rumsfeldt establishments. They might’ve been aware the Rumsfeldt took a big cut, but with how much the Williamses had donated over the years, there should’ve been enough money for all orphanages to operate like the ones used as fronts. Dick suddenly remembers he’s seen Arnwald Rumsfeldt amongst their troops, cheering, clapping a fisted hand to his heart when Dick held a speech. But the rest of the Rumsfeldts have been keeping very quiet. They haven’t openly supported or opposed him. He wonders if Arnie will hang in Central Park alongside his parents or if he, just like Antoine, was burdened with his family's crimes by merely being born. He’ll have to look into it. Arnie was one of the first Alphas to deep-purr him. It shouldn’t matter, but it does. Looking around at his companions, he knows all of them have perpetrated horrific crimes one way or another, and Dick holds no grudges for it. It’s not about being good or bad; it’s about choosing allegiance. If Arnie has forsaken his parents, his crimes will be absolved Dick decides.

“At home, there are other kits. You’re not allowed to hurt them. You’ll never have to fight for food. We’re in the middle of civil war, and as long as we don’t lose, you’ll never go hungry. We’ve got domestic animals. You’re not allowed to hurt them or eat them,” Jay tells Sunflower. He jerks the catching-pole to pull her closer. “Especially the cat,” he hisses. “If you harm the cat, I’ll kill you. I’ll hunt you down like prey and gut you like a fish. Understood?”

Sunflower swallows with wide eyes and a sticky sound, smelling of fear. She nods.

Jay loosens the vicious grip on the pole so she can lean back again. “Good. Now, if you pet the animals instead, fantastic things will happen. You’ll see. You’ll be living in my room at first. When you’ve shown that you’re able to behave yourself well enough not to be a danger to the rest of your new family, you may have a room of your own if you wish. Now, these people,” he makes a sweeping gesture towards them, “most of them are part of your new pack-family. Those two are your new Main and Patriarch. You can smell the friendship bond on all of them except Abraham over there, who’s a journalist. If you don’t know how to discern a friendship bond from a pack bond, I’ll teach you. It’s like looking at something while you’re really focusing on a movement in the corner of your eye. Once you know how to do it, it’ll be easy to discern between a pack and a friendship bond. I…” Jay continues talking, telling Sunflower what she can expect and what will be expected from her, but Dick’s distracted, excited for a hint of how to recognize a pack bond. He vows to ask Jay to teach him.

Dick looks around at his companions. Technically, they’re allowed to talk now, but nobody does, leaving Jay to fill the silence with his instructions for their newest family member. But what hits Dick when he looks at the others is that, with the exception of Marcel and Aleksandr, they’re all hiding different levels of shock. Jed smells neutral, but his eyes show different. Jane looks heartbroken and smells of mourning and distress, Mar’s furious, Sean has his thousand-yard-stare that he gets sometimes, and Aiden’s as crushed as Jane, unable to take his eyes off Sunflower. It’s hard to tell if Marcel and Aleksandr really feel since they can do the scent clipping. It’s sobering to realize that he’s not nearly as affected as the rest, but rather, desensitized like the card-playing Os. It leaves a bad taste in his mouth. He squeezes Aiden’s hand gently, caressing it with a thumb, then starts purring his soothing all-is-well. It doesn’t take long before Jed joins in, synching. All isn’t well, but even Sunflower relaxes slightly. 

Sunflower's addition to their pack causes quite a stir, and her story is worthy of her own book. Dick can see Mar mentally writing it already, watching her react to her new environment. But to Dick, it puts a spotlight on what feat Jay pulled off, escaping after two years, reclaiming not only the ability to speak and fake a friendly exterior but learning to read as well.

Jay’s mad at him. And when Dick and Marcel are alone in Marcel’s room, Dick complains. “I hate those angry looks he keeps giving me. What if he never forgives me?”

“So? What about it?” Marcel says disinterestedly and sits down by his desk.

Sometimes when Marcel speaks, it makes Dick ache for Antoine; they sound so alike. “I worry I pushed him too far.”

Marcel shrugs. “It’s good to face your fears. He was terrified to go back there, and now he has. Don’t worry about it.”

Again, Marcel’s right, Jay’s ire doesn’t last long. In the upcoming days, Jay’s busy trying to housebreak Sunflower. She’s a wild, frightened animal with no trust for anyone. She’s made a nest under Jay’s bed and will growl and hiss at anyone trying to get her to come out from under there. If she refuses when Jay asks her to, he goes to get the catching-pole. But when Dick sees their interactions, he also notes how Jay tells her exactly what will happen before he does anything. In the beginning, he keeps her on a long leash when they’re outside of his room. It upsets Jane, but Jason says it’s to make Sunflower feel safe. And, to be fair, the leash is connected to the dog collar she wears by a carabiner hook that she could easily unclip herself. Virtue, the little slave girl Jay had adopted, follows Sunflower around, talking, offering her fruits and toys if Sunflower so much as looks at her.

Sunflower, or Sunny or Sunshine as they also call her, is around thirteen years old. She appears a lot shorter than she is because she’s always crouching down, hiding behind stuff, watching her new world guardedly while the leash remains wrapped around Jay’s hand like a promise - a physical oath that Jay is there to protect her and won’t abandon her. When he hands over the leash to someone, it’s only ever someone he knows won’t let go or take it off her. Day three of Sunflower’s adoption Jay leaves her in his room and goes to see Dick. He proceeds to fuck Dick senseless, and when they’re done, he lies holding Dick, purring with a content smile and no hint of anger left. From under Dick’s desk, two glowing yellow orbs watch them curiously. Dick hadn’t even noticed Sunflower come in. He smiles and lifts the blanket invitingly, asking her if she wants to nap with them, with a friendly “ _Mrrt?_ ” The yellow orbs wink out and there’s a shuffling as Sunflower withdraws deeper into the shadows.

Jay chuckles drowsily. “Good luck with that. Yesterday she slept on the foot of my bed, but as soon as she realized I was awake she dove under the bed to her nest again. She’ll come around, eventually. I did.”

Jay might not be angry at Dick anymore, but he’s not alright.

* * *

There’s a knock on Dick’s office door, then it opens, and Naomi slinks inside, shutting the door and locking it. She smells nervous and is wearing a floor-length silk robe. It’s highly unusual for her. She’s usually more modest and utilitarian in her choice of clothing. Dick evaluates the model and quality of the garment and asserts it must be a gift. It has Marlon written all over it. 

“What can I do for you, dear?” Dick asks when she hesitates. He hopes she isn’t here to scold him for working. Earlier today, he’d had an episode of a sort. The world had suddenly tilted on its axis, his head spun out of control, and his knees buckled. Luckily Aleksandr had been there to catch him and carry him to a bed where he rested for a bit and was back to normal within half an hour. But he’d lost time and had a lot of paperwork to do. He’s glad his mates aren’t at home, or he wouldn’t have been the only one to freak out over the episode.

The Williams estate is eerily empty. Several high profile sting operations are taking place at the same time. It’s all hands on deck. Jed, Mar, and Sean left with the central part of their forces almost two weeks ago, and a week later, Arvid and Aiden joined up with them, Laurent followed a few days later. Even Mal’s out there patching up soldiers with her growing belly, and here he is, unable to even walk down a corridor without collapsing.

“It’s. It’s more of what I can do for you, Master,” Naomi answers and takes a few more steps into the room. “I saw what happened earlier today. And I was thinking…” she looks away and swallows, a blush spreading on her cheeks, anxiety spiking in her scent. “Since none of your mates are home… and with your health and all…” She undoes her robe's belt and pushes it off her shoulders, but clasps her hands in front of her, so it doesn’t fall off entirely.

Dick’s brain fries.

She’s naked underneath.

Absolutely gorgeous.

Her blush spreads all the way to the pale skin of her chest that heaves increasingly rapidly. Nestled between her breast, there’s a new pendant. The robe hangs loosely around her elbows, and he can see the hint of pubic hair in the gap between the fabric under her clasped hands.

Dick can smell his own budding arousal, and so can she.

He wonders why the mere sight of her, not even fully naked, can spark such instant lust when he sees naked people all the time?

He can almost feel Antoine tap his temple, almost hear him say, ‘ _Sex happens in here._ ’ A sentiment Marcel had echoed during his lessons at the Academy, saying ‘ _Everything we are, happens right here._ ’ That’s why the sight of Naomi, who always covers up, who’s saving herself for her future mate, causes such a stir. 

Dick realizes he’s faced with a similar moral dilemma as Aid was when he took Dick to the hotel for a bath.

If Naomi had been just anyone, he’d have no hesitation. But she isn’t. He’s worked so long to manipulate her towards this exact moment; to get her to allow physical intimacy so he could slip on a pack bond like an invisible, leashed collar. But just like with Jason, he hadn’t fully considered what his victory would represent to those whose lives he manipulated. When Jay read the rewritten chapters of his two-year stay at the orphanage, he’d cried for one day straight. Dick’s heart had shattered to a million pieces along with Jason’s. ‘Foster’ was never just a name to him. It was the worst trauma of his life. Marcel calls what Jay’s going through ‘a cleansing through fire’ and assures Dick he’ll come out a better man for it. But it hurts Dick to see how painful it is for Jay to have his last hard layer broken to lay bare the scared, mistreated kit inside.

Dick gets to his feet and walks up to Naomi, trying to ignore how his cock starts to fill in anticipation, pointedly not looking at the dark, pink nipples that would fit perfectly in his mouth. Instead, he lifts the pendant and looks at it with a small smile. It’s a medallion of a compass rose, with inlays of mahogany and gold, accented with tiny details of other metals. It’s not an actual compass. “This is new,” he remarks.

“Yes,” Naomi answers and looks down at his palm, where the medallion rests. “Master Marlon gave it to me when I asked him where I could find something like it. Does it make you uncomfortable, Master?”

“No, not at all. I think it’s beautiful.”

“Thank you. I think it represents my god better than my old pendant.”

“It’s unusual. What made you want a compass rose?”

“It's something you said about the Scripture. So I’ve been talking to people. Commander Aleksandr told me the Morning Star has always been worshipped all over the globe under different names. He said it’s the god of nomads and seafarers, but also people searching for truths, or those longing for home but who don’t know where home is yet. The Commander said the compass rose used to be a common symbol for the Star in Europe and America.”

“Is what I said the reason you’re here right now?”

Naomi lets out an awkward little laugh and looks away. “In part, Sir.”

Dick hums thoughtfully and gently lets go of the medallion. “The first time I was naked in front of someone on purpose, I had a panic attack. The same thing kept happening. I didn’t truly get used to nudity until I was drafted. But that first time… His name was Antoine. He was so very respectful and considerate. He understood the challenges I faced as a convert better than I did. I didn’t see myself as a Conservative at the time, yet my upbringing made it very hard to adapt to living like a Primal.” He caresses her shoulders, down the outside of her arms―seeing goosebumps form on her skin―until he reaches the edge of her robe. “You’re incredibly beautiful, Naomi. There’s not an inch of you that I don’t wish to touch or taste.” He grabs the edge of her robe and pulls it up over her shoulders, then closes it. “But I can’t accept this.”

Naomi’s head whips towards him with surprise. “But, Sir! Why?”

Dick cups her cheek and caresses back and forth with his thumb. “Because I love you, Naomi. I love you like a close family member, yet you constantly rebuff that love by calling me Master and Sir. As long as you make that distinction, I can’t take advantage of what you’re offering.”

“It’s not unusual for servants to become their Masters’ lovers,” Naomi points out, eyes large and bewildered.

Dick shakes his head. “It’s not unusual for Conservative Masters to take lovers amongst their servants. How many Williamses have deep-purred you? Very few, if any. Their morals are much more unyielding than mine are, and they don’t take advantage of anyone dependent on them. Up until right this moment, I’ve been looking forward to this. But now that you're here, I realize I can't do it. You see, in my perfect vision of the future, I get to share a pack bond with you. Maybe we'd even be co-mates? But first and foremost, we'd be equals. If I trick you into the bond as I'd planned, I'd be disrespecting you and damage our trust. That's a dreadful start for a relationship I planned to last until death."

"But we're not talking about a bond, Sir. You need physical touch. I'm willing to give you myself. I don't want you to die," Naomi argues.

"Well. We can both agree to that last bit," Dick says with a joking tone. He strokes a lock of hair out of her face. "But if I make love to you―and it would be making love, not fucking―you'd get a pack bond. Trust me. So what I want you to do is to think this through. I want to make love to a friend, not a servant. I want you to consider what a pack bond represents to you.” It’s what Marcel kept repeating; what something represents to someone. Dick lets his hand trail down to her shoulder, and then a little lower to rest on the upper part of her chest. “I can smell your fear and anxiety. Tell me, dear, when you offer yourself to me, are you doing it hoping your god will forgive you, or because you think your god agrees it’s the right thing to do? If it’s the first, why would I, who loves you and consider you part of my close family, agree, knowing the burden it is to you? If it’s the second, it can only come from a sudden crisis of faith.” He wonders if he sounds convincing as if he figured that out on his own. He doesn’t want her to know Marcel told him. “I know of your life-long devotion to the Scripture, dear. And while it doesn’t explicitly mention same-gender sex, it looks down on behavior that would include that. Again, why would I, someone who loves you, want you to rush through something as huge as redefining your faith?” The answer to why he would want that is clear in the scent of his arousal.

Naomi looks frustrated. “But we don’t have that time. You need it now. Your health, Sir―”

Dick puts a finger to her mouth to shush her. “I’m fine. Befriend me first, then we can talk. Let yourself know me as Dick, not Master. I won’t allow myself to touch you sexually until you remove that barrier. I don’t want to be that morally bankrupt.” 

Naomi looks up into his softly smiling face and bites her lip, hesitating for a bit. Then she nods and ties her robe again, looking away while her anxiety fades.

Dick lifts her medallion and looks at it again. “I’d like to think something led you here for a reason,” he says and rubs his thumb over the compass rose before letting it go. “Now, off you go, and think about what I said. And don’t dawdle. I’m still just a man with an overactive libido and you’re a beautiful woman. I’m not made of stone.” He makes a shooing motion, softened by a playful smile.

Naomi’s lips twitch into a smile. She bows her head. “Yes, Sir,” she says, then turns and leaves the room. He can see she’s still smiling when she exits.

He blows out a harsh breath and goes back to his desk, but he can't concentrate. He keeps seeing Naomi undo her robe. He imagines how well her breasts would fit in his hand, imagines sucking a nipple into his mouth, running a hand down her side to part her legs. She'd be burning hot, his finger gliding in almost by itself as slick as she is. He imagines his nose buried in her public hair, his tongue playing with her clitoris, laving at her wet slit. Her scent. The scent of the two of them on her skin, the tight press of her inner walls as he situates himself between her legs and pushes in…

He abruptly stands up and stalks over to an armchair with a decorative pillow, snatches the pillow and presses it to his face before he lets out a scream. He sits down by the wall beside the armchair, hugs the pillow to his chest, pulls his knees up, and starts banging the back of his head into the wall repeatedly to let out frustration.

The door opens.

Aleksandr comes rushing into the room with an alarmed expression, looking around for a threat, discerning that there is none, and settling his gaze on Dick.

Dick stops banging his head to glare. “I fucking _hate_ Marcel! He’s such a fucking enabler. He _knew_ this was going to happen, and he _knew_ how damaging it would be to my victims. But did he try to stop me? Oh, no, he didn’t. Instead, he just watched it unfold with that amused smirk of his.”

Aleksandr keeps watching him with a neutral expression. He doesn’t say anything. Probably thinking Dick’s lost his marbles completely. He might be right.

“I’ve been working for this so long, and when it gets served to me on a silver platter, what do I do? I turn it away!” Dick goes on undeterred.

“Silver makes food taste bad,” Aleksandr answers.

Dick is about to snipe that he didn’t mean it literally, but then thinks better of it. Aleksandr understands English just fine even if he’s shit at speaking it. “You know what I did instead, Commander? I told her I was planning to snipe her. I _told her_ she’s stuck with us to death do us part. I said it _before_ she had a bond! I’m an idiot.” He makes a sound of frustration and bangs his head against the wall again. Aleksandr doesn’t make a move to stop him. “You know what the worst part is? I could see myself in her.” He takes for granted that the commander knows exactly what transpired in here a few minutes ago. He’d have seen Naomi come and go, wearing practically nothing. “I had the same fear of being naked. And I didn’t even consider it for a moment before she stood here offering herself to me. It’s going to take time and patience to get her used to her own body. So how can I take advantage of her and still claim to love her?! Marcel knew all of this because he raised Antoine, and Antoine was more aware of what mental scarring my upbringing left on me than I was.” He doesn’t care if Aleksandr knows who Antoine was, he just needs to vent. “He probably knew what reclaiming the Foster name would do to Jason too. Yet he encouraged me to push for it as soon as I said I wanted to.”

“If you didn’t, Big Jay and Jane would not save the other Foster cubs, no?” Aleksandr points out.

Which is probably true. Up until the day Jay took them to the orphanages, he’d deliberately dodged the subject, putting the topic in the shadows. Instead, he and Jane have now rectified the problem. It’s a nightmare. The kits are so damaged it’s hard to find suitable families for them, unlike the slave kits that are disciplined, hard-working, and obedient. Arnie had provided not only all the addresses to the rest of the orphanages, but given them insight to how his family hid and embezzled money. He’d taken a stand, but it hadn’t been easy for him to watch his parents hang.

“That’s not the point! I’ve gotten so good at scheming and talking bullshit out of my ass, that I’m hurting people I care about,” Dick complains. “And I’m so damn hungry. But I can’t keep food down. At most, I can keep it down long enough to hide that I have to go throw it up. I try to convince all designations Packrunners aren’t just animals, but the only thing that doesn’t make my stomach turn when I think about eating, is uncooked, still warm from the kill, meat,” he goes on, unloading another problem. “I almost stole a mouse from one of the cats the other day. It’s pathetic. It’s gross. It’s the things I avoided to eat if I could get real food while living on the streets. But now all I can think about is that first crunch of a rodent’s skull before swallowing it whole, or the taste of fresh blood. I can’t ask anyone for it. _Gnnn._ Being pregnant is the worst thing that has happened to me!”

"I much doubt that," Aleksandr says dryly. 

"Why are you even here, Commander? Shouldn't you be out there fighting the war?" Dick lashes out verbally.

"If I go, I have to leave fifteen men behind. I can only be at one place, they can be at many, if you get what I'm sayin'?"

Dick snorts. "You think very highly of yourself," he sneers, envy creeping through his veins.

"Yes. I'm big, strong, real man," Aleksandr agrees with a smirk.

"Did you ever think fifteen people might have been better? Like, who's watching Sunflower?" Dick accuses. He hasn’t seen her for ages and wonders if she’s run away. Not that it would’ve been his bodyguards’ job to look after kits, but still.

"She's with Big Jay."

" _At the fucking frontline?_ And you agreed to that?" Dick asks in horrified outrage. Aleksandr remains unimpressed and silent. " _Jane_ agreed to that?" Dick corrects, since Aleksandr’s right - it isn’t his business. 

When Aleksandr doesn't answer―his silence is answer enough, since Sunflower will barely allow Jason to leave her side unless she knows exactly where he is, leash or no leash―Dick whines and hides his face behind his knees. "Just leave me alone," he says.

Aleksandr remains standing there for several seconds before Dick hears his steps recede and the door close. He's finally alone to stew in self-pity.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so... My old boy has crossed the rainbow bridge.  
> I'm not alright, but he's no longer in pain and there wasn't much else to do. :'(
> 
> Anyway, thank you for the comments you leave about my stories. I really appreciate them. I appreciate you. <3


	35. A Bad Mate?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick's mood swings take a toll on some of his relationships, one in particular. But one of Dick's schemes forces him to talk it out or things might go awfully wrong.

* * *

Dick's rapidly getting worse. He keeps the charade up in front of strangers, but his mood is a mess and he just wants to be left alone. He's constantly horny but has an urge to withdraw and hide so he ends up rebuffing even his mates. That puts a lot of strain on all of his close relationships. Especially his and Marlon’s relationship suffers from Dick whiplashing between ‘don’t touch me/leave me alone’ and ‘you’re never there for me/why don't we ever have sex’. They fight over ridiculous things for no reason whatsoever. It doesn’t help that Karen’s freed and here, and Dick feels threatened by her. She’s short, made of steel and stone until you get her alone, then she’s warm and compassionate. Too many people are looking at her with adoration. She’s a real threat to him. If she’d challenge him for rank to get her pack back, he wouldn’t stand a chance right now, exhausted, hungry, and with a bratty lump growing in his belly.

Not that Karen shows any inclination towards taking her pack back, but Dick feels cornered, trapped, constantly at intense stress levels. Not that any of this stops him from scheming. 

He’s standing by the open window, seeing Phillip stop and give Carter instructions about a hedge that needs trimming, pat him on the shoulder and call him a good boy before he wanders off, Carter watching him go with a bewildered look. It’s all the confirmation Dick needs. He goes back to his desk and sits down.

“Naomi, would you sit down for a moment,” Dick says and gestures at the chairs on the opposite side of his desk.

Naomi, who’d brisked into his office to deliver a plate of nauseating food, sits down with a curious and expectant look.

Dick leans forward on his desk and smiles at her. “Have you thought anything about what I said to you when you came to me, offering your body?”

Sweet, pink roses blossom on Naomi’s cheeks, but she meets his gaze steadily and smiles. “I’ve done nothing but think about it.”

Dick hums. “So you’re clear that it’s my intention to see you part of my pack, but understand I’m unwilling to trick you into it because I love and respect you?”

She nods.

“Converting was hard for me,” Dick says, trying to hide how the smell of the healthy, well-balanced meal she put on his desk makes his stomach roil and threaten to turn. “But I didn’t have to redefine my faith while I was at it. I only had to change culture. And I did so willingly, heatedly dreaming of becoming what the people who loved me were. So while I fought against conditioning, I didn’t have to break away from lifelong beliefs, like you.” He steeples his hands in front of him. “I know perilously little about your past. I’ve discerned that you come from a moderately wealthy family that could afford to send you to school, and that, most likely, your parents were accepting and compassionate people who set a good example, who didn’t punish you harshly for your missteps. Yet, you’ll go through the same ingrained shame for things that Primals and Packrunners see as natural, as I did, if I ever convince you to become more than a servant. I’m willing to support you as best as I possibly can through it, and to let it take as much time as you need. Now. Initially, I’d planned to bond you without your knowledge and play it off as an accident. I would’ve offered you a fade, but not a soft one. I know full well what a hard fade feels like, and I’m certain you don’t, so it too would’ve been part of the manipulation. But I can’t do that to you.”

Naomi opens her mouth to speak, hesitates, and closes it again.

Dick gives her a warm smile. “This war… I’ve been scheming so long I don’t know how to stop. I offer you honesty as a token of respect and friendship. A pack bond, acquiring it is like getting to breathe fresh air for the first time after being locked into a small room filled with smoke. It changes you. So.” He puts his hands back down on the desk. “There are several Conservatives amongst our allies. We don’t trust all of them. One, in particular, is of special interest to us. We don’t trust him, but we want to. So we’re going to do to him what I planned to do to you. We’ll refer to it as a sniping, but it isn’t really. When you snipe someone you steal them away from an already existing pack, and he has none. What we’ll do is force-bond him, and play it off as an accident. It’ll fuck with his mind, and you’ll get to see what I planned for you, before I realized it would cause a rift in our trust for each other. Keep an eye on our Conservative allies. It’ll happen soon.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Dick smiles again. “Now go. I have work to do. And would you be so kind to send in Aleksandr?”

"Of course." Naomi gets up and walks to the door. She stops with her hand on the handle and looks back at him. "Thank you. ... Richard," she says with a shy smile, then she quickly ducks out of the room, leaving Dick with a stricken, warm feeling in his chest from hearing his name without a Sir or Master tagged onto it.

He's still watching the door with a surprised smile when Aleksandr enters. Dick drops his smile. "I hate Marcel. Why is he always right?"

Aleksandr locks the door, chuckling. "Is easier. Looking from outside. Is harder with bond," he says while turning to face Dick. 

"I told Naomi I'm about to snipe another Conservative here on the premise. Do you think I made a mistake by doing so?"

Aleksandr looks thoughtful for a beat. "No. She is very loyal."

Dick pushes the plate of food towards Aleksandr. "Are you angry about losing half your company to us?"

"No," Aleksandr answers simply as he approaches Dick's desk and grabs the plate. "I've lost my company before. This is a good loss. If I want more soldiers I look around in broken countries for broken people and stoke their fire. Besides, they all own me. When they join pack, pack owns me."

"Owe," Dick corrects, getting a nod in thanks while Aleksandr quickly shovels Dick’s food into his mouth.

Aleksandr barely chews before he swallows, cleaning the plate in no time. He drops the empty plate on Dick’s desk and points at it while it spins with a clinking sound before it settles. “Is no good.”

“I _know_. What am I supposed to do? I don’t have time to lose an hour puking my guts out every mealtime.”

“You tell them what you need and they still give this?”

“No. I’m keeping up appearances.” Dick leans back in his chair with a frustrated hiss. “Arvid says you’re a political player, but I never hear you come with suggestions for actions unless asked directly,” he says to change the topic.

“I have interest in you winning the war, but if you don’t, I take my men and leave. I’m not interested in holding office. I have nomad’s soul. Let those who live here make the rules.” 

It’s both annoying and reassuring that Aleksandr is just doing his job, not trying to manipulate Dick to gain power. “You know why I’m lying to my family about―” he gestures at the empty plate, backtracking on the topic change.

Aleksandr shrugs with a nod. “All need to see you put together or they worry too much about you to focus on winning war. Your enemies get wind of your weakness, they’ll go hard for you. So yes. I get. Is why I, how was it you say... enable? But too many weeks left not to eat at all. Is no good.”

“If you figure out a way to get me what I crave without anyone catching wind of it, I’ll eat. But for now, I’ve got too much work.” Dick tips his head back and closes his eyes with a tired sigh. “I just want to crawl under the highest beams in the attic and sleep forever,” he says longingly.

“Die, you mean,” Aleksandr says flatly.

Dick looks up with a scowl. “No. I’m not going to _die_. Now take a hike,” he snides.

Aleksandr lifts an unimpressed eyebrow but leaves the room, closing the door behind him. Dick hopes Aleksandr doesn't take things personally since he has to take the brunt of Dick’s constantly foul mood while Dick fakes smiles at others.

* * *

A while later there’s a sharp rap on the door and Aleksandr enters. He locks the door and walks up to Dick’s desk without saying anything. His face and throat look a bit strange and bulging. Dick frowns at him in bemusement. Aleksandr moves the papers Dick had been writing to the side, leans forward until his head is about 7 inches from the desk. Then he opens his mouth.

No less than five mice fall out. They smell strongly of Aleksandr’s piney scent, are covered in his saliva, and while they’re not moving, they’re still somehow breathing.

Dick's eyes go round. For a moment Dick's brain refuses to work. His stomach growls loudly from hunger. He looks questioningly at Aleksandr.

"Everyone knows I'm demon or Siberian, yeah? I can eat whatever I want and I'm often with you. So they think I eat this, yeah?" Aleksandr smirks.

Dick looks down on the feast. Aleksandr is right. They even smell like him so the scent that’ll linger on Dick’s desk can be blamed on the man.

Dick dives for the food and makes short work of swallowing, giving the heads one satisfying crunch then shifting his throat to swallow the bodies. Then he leans back with a warbly breath of relief. It’s the first time in a long time his hunger feels sated without his stomach turning. Back when he was homeless, mice and rats were welcome morsels that effectively elevated his long-time energy. But he’d always preferred real, cooked food. If he wasn’t so sated right now he’d be ashamed.

Aleksandr purrs smugly, watching him with a self-satisfied smirk. “The war council is done now, yeah? Your Conservative is idle. Go make him pack.”

“Wadsworth?"

"Dollface, да."

"Where is he?”

“Library.”

“Thank you, dear.” Dick gets up from his desk, rounds it, and heads for the door. When Aleksandr doesn’t follow on his heel, he turns around to find Aleksandr watching him with amusement. Dick frowns. “You know, I’m the one who’s supposed to give you orders,” he points out.

Aleksandr grins with teethed canines, jerking his head towards the door. “Take a hike,” he says jokingly.

Dick chuckles and shakes his head. The Siberian Alpha certainly doesn’t take his snide remarks personally. He wonders if he’s taken care of nasty, pregnant Os before? Probably. “Thank you, dear. I mean it,” he says. Aleksandr purrs smugly again and blinks slowly at him, making it a content gesture.

Dick goes to find Carter.

* * *

Dick's fully engaged in his seduction of Carter when he starts to feel high. A warm, relaxed feeling spreads through his body and his worries melt away. Now he fleetingly wonders why the mice smelled so strongly of Aleksandr and how the man could keep five live mice in his mouth. He thinks the mice must have been full of Siberian venom. Whatever it is, it's making him feel great. 

He pulls the chuckling Carter into his room by the lapels of his dress-uniform jacket, yanks him around, and backs him towards the bed. It had started as a discussion about the books in the library and progressed from there. Dick's learned his lesson from earlier interactions and steered clear of asking Carter too personal questions, while instead speaking openly about his own thoughts and past. He’s also drawing inspiration from Aiden, trying to emulate his M.O. Flaring is key. Carter's enchanted by the red flare, although he's been switching between flirting back and being amused by Dick's come-ons.

"I can see two perfectly good armchairs over there," Carter points out without breaking gaze with Dick or resisting Dick's determined push towards the bed, lips twitching in amusement.

"Mmhm," Dick agrees and gives Carter a little shove when the back of Carter's legs hit the bed.

Carter falls down and lands with a little bounce and a grin. This is the first time Dick's managed to get the two of them completely alone without being on a time crunch, and being alone with the man changed his behavior. Carter's much more receptive to flirting when he doesn’t have to play at being a respectable, good Conservative. Discretion is everything.

Dick crawls up to straddle Carter's thighs with a (hopefully) seductive smile while Carter sits leaned back, supporting himself with his hands on the mattress behind him. "I'm beginning to think you didn't ask me in here to show me a painting," Carter says with a crooked smile, a playful glint dancing in his eyes.

“The painting’s right behind you, dear. By all means, feel free to admire it,” Dick purrs and slowly pushes one golden eagle-engraved brass shank button through its hole after another to undo Carter’s handsome, red uniform coat. “I’m just making you comfortable, Major. You look awfully hot.” 

Dick wouldn’t have been quite this aggressive yet if Carter hadn’t been smelling of excitement and low-key arousal for the last 30 minutes. They’ve been feeding off each other and Dick himself smells like _please-fuck-me-now_. Both of them were well aware the invite to come to look at a painting in Dick’s room was just a flimsy excuse to seek privacy together.

“It _is_ hot in here,” Carter agrees and lifts his hands one at a time when Dick pushes the jacket off his shoulders, letting Dick pull the sleeves off and put the jacket down neatly beside them.

“Mmh. I can see it by the redness of your cheeks. Here. Let me help you cool down,” Dick says and starts unbuttoning the dainty pearl buttons of Carter’s white dress shirt. He loves these dress uniforms. One might question their usefulness in battle―and he does―but they’re handsome and luxurious enough to turn Dick into as much of a clothing snob as Mar. 

“You know, Governor, I think you forgot what I told you during the first night we spoke,” Carter says with a low chuckle. 

“Oh, I remember perfectly well. You told me no Omega but your mate would get to feel your knot inside of them.” Dick stops unbuttoning the shirt when he reaches the belt on Carter’s tight breeches. He pulls the shirt partly open to expose Carter’s fit chest. Carter only has a small dusting of hair between his pecs. Dick slides a hand inside the fabric to feel the well-rounded chest muscle under his palm. “But you know, dear, there’s a whole designation procreating without any problems, who never feel the knot of their mate inside. So your outspoken limit leaves _a lot_ of wriggle room,” he says and nuzzles Carter’s cheek, tracing the cheekbone with his nose to the ear, then to the gland behind it and closes his mouth around the gland, teasing it with his tongue.

Carter’s breath stutters. He tilts his head carefully not to dislodge Dick while giving him better access. The low-key arousal in his scent grows, inflamed by the tease. “I don’t know what impression you have of me, Dick,” he says with a mild strain on his voice. “But I don’t fool around with Omegas.”

“Fool around?” Dick pulls back to smirk at Carter with sharp canines and a lidded gaze. “Carter, dear, this is a dead-serious matter.”

Carter’s eyes narrow a little, and there’s a sudden uncertainty in his smile. “That almost sounds like a threat, Governor.”

“Does it? You were the one to discover my health is waning, and this is a remedy. If anyone is under threat right now, it’s me.” Dick’s lips curve into an impish smile. “I’ll tell you what, Major. Let’s do a science experiment. You can siphon me now to check my health. Then we explore exactly how far you’re willing to go with an Omega before we reach the proverbial line in the sand. It would be a heroic endeavor on your behalf, sacrificing your virtue to save the leader of the free world,” he says, making Carter’s shoulders jump in withheld laughter. “Afterward, you can siphon me again and note to what extent joint pleasure helps my health.”

Carter’s eyes glitter with amusement. He nods. “Very scientific, indeed.”

“Mmmhm,” Dick purrs and caresses Carter’s chest, feeling the nipples go stiff under his fingers. “Also very classified information. We’re trying to hide my health status from everybody. You wouldn’t want to be denied that information, would you?”

“No,” Carter agrees with a chuckle, shaking his head.

A cold voice from the doorway startles them both. "Major Wadsworth. This corridor is off-limits to guests. This _room_ is off-limits." It's Marlon. Dick curses inwardly. He really doesn’t need a mate throwing a jealousy fit right now.

Carter leans to the side so he can meet Marlon's gaze. "I was invited. Besides, aren't you Packrunners supposed to be the sharing kind?" he says with a crooked smirk, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. "Moreover, I'm only here looking out for your mate's health. You're welcome to take over. It's your job, after all."

Dick twists his neck so he can see Mar. Mar's red in the face, veins throbbing visibly by his temples, flare growing increasingly bright. Mar’s gaze meets his. There’s something about Mar’s cold eyes―as if he isn’t really there―that normally would’ve scared the crap out of Dick. But whatever drug was in those mice Dick ate is working its magic. Dick just smiles. Mar’s jaw clenches.

Mar looks back at Carter, everything about him icy and hard. "Fine. You can keep the room. Keep him too for all I care. I don't give a shit," he says, then he turns on his heel and slams the door shut behind him so hard the paintings rattle on the walls.

Dick remains looking at the door for a few seconds until the scent of anger creeps in to mix with the arousal in Carter’s scent.

“Shouldn’t you go after him?” Carter asks when Dick looks back at him.

“No.”

“I don’t like to be played like a pawn in a fucked up game of relationship drama,” Carter says, getting a hard edge to his smile and some of the playful warmth in his eyes melting away.

“Oh, no, dear. I don’t play those games. Marlon could start drama in an empty room and it’s no use going after him when he’s in that state. It’s better to wait until he’s calmed down.”

“You’re having problems in your relationship,” Carter states it as a fact, a challenge in his eyes.

“Sadly, yes. I’m afraid it’s a combination of how the pregnancy has affected me, Mar’s tendency to think the world revolves around him, and how the current state of the world has kept us both too busy to talk things out properly like we normally do.” Dick hesitates, debating how honest he needs to be to keep Carter not only in the room but willing to let Dick remove more of his clothes and touch him intimately. “And I’ll admit that lately, I’ve been trying to steer him towards prioritizing Captain Arvid Mattsson when he’s got the free time. I want their mating to be rock solid, in case I don’t survive giving birth,” he decides to confess. Carter’s anger disappears, and the hard edge to his expression melts away. “But don’t worry, dear. Once we’re done, I’ll go find him and see if he’s ready to talk it out like adults. I won’t let a little fit escalate.” He cups Carter’s cheek and leans in to kiss him on the mouth. It’s a mistake; too intimate. Carter isn’t reciprocating.

Carter turns his head away and pinches his lips briefly, then carefully says, “Whatever he told you about me, I’m not the same man as when he and I first met.” Dick can’t interpret his expression. 

“Oh? And when did you first meet?” Dick asks, arching an eyebrow.

“He didn’t tell you?” Carter asks, turning his face back, notes of anxiety bubbling up under the arousal in his scent.

“ _You_ didn’t tell me, dear. It’s almost like you’re trying to withhold that little nugget of information. Foolishly, since naturally, my mate blurted it at first sight,” Dick purrs with a knowing smile that he hopes covers up his surprise that there’s some kind of history here that Mar hasn’t mentioned one damned word about. “So. Why don’t you tell me in your own words?”

Carter lets out a nervous little laugh. "What can I say? Your mate and I shared a patron. A very generous, intellectual, devout man, with a physical handicap and a grand scheme. I let him use me in exchange for his generosity. Back then I was nothing more than a gentleman's toy that my parents allowed to be passed around to stop me from burdening their economy. I’m not proud of who I was back then, and saw no reason to bring it to fore.”

The pieces fall into place. Coombs’ other lover. That’s vital information that Mar hadn’t mentioned despite glaring daggers at the man since he first showed up. Dick shoves his annoyance into the back of his mind to instead focus on how he can use this to his advantage. He caresses Carter’s cheek and combs his hands through his hair. “Of course you didn’t, dear. Mar thinks you’re still Coombs’ creature,” Dick hedges, “and it would be catastrophic for you if that idea took hold. I may inadvertently have made it worse by mentioning that if they sent you to assassinate me, they chose the right man.”

Carter lets out another nervous chuckle, anxious scent increasing. He adjusts his position so he’s only supporting himself with one hand behind him and the other coming to rest around Dick’s waist. “You saw my orders. I’ve got nothing to hide.” 

Dick smiles sweetly and massages Carter’s neck with his wrists to activate the hidden glands Antoine taught him about. “Of course not, dear. I don’t think you do or I wouldn’t be here. If I thought he was right not even your beauty could save you from the gallows. But I don’t. Now, what do you say, dear? Shall we put this discussion behind us and continue with our little science experiment? Then later I’ll go find my mate and see if I can talk some sense into him.” Blackmail at its finest. Should Carter withdraw now it might appear as if he’s fleeing the scene. His anxiety isn’t proof of any wrongdoing. They both know that if Mar’s suspicion took hold he might die even if he’s innocent. And if he _is_ an inside operator of Coombs? Well. That’s why Dick’s doing this. A pack bond with its compulsion will corrupt any spy as it corrupted Mar.

Carter smiles but the corner of his eye twitches - Dick thinks it's a subconscious tell when he's trying to hide something. He runs his hand up Dick’s back in a slow caress. "Mh. Let's. I honestly don't know where my limit is. I've avoided consorting with Os to protect the little honor I've got."

Dick purrs and tilts his neck invitingly. He can almost hear the trap door close behind Carter.

It’s almost too easy. If Carter had shied away and fled the room as he’d done so many times before when things had gotten personal, it would’ve looked as if he was afraid of the implications that he’s a spy. Fleeing would’ve enhanced any suspicions about him. Now, instead, Carter falls into an old pattern of sharing his body, working his tongue over Dick’s gland, siphoning as offered. Dick responds in kind, not even bothering to ask if he can siphon before he does it. It’s rude, yes, but he’s trying to force a bond so he couldn’t care less.

Aside from two hitches―Carter panics when the siphon high kicks in (it’s his first time) but Dick manages to calm him, and Carter makes a comment about feeling like he’s desecrating something holy while touching Dick’s belly which nearly pisses Dick off enough to jar him out of the high from whatever Aleksandr dosed him with―it turns out Carter’s willing to go further than Dick thought he would. Not all the way of course, but that doesn’t matter. Carter’s willing to share his mouth and hands, and willing to let Dick reciprocate. He’s also gratefully willing to let Dick give him a back massage afterward, oblivious to all the milky bonding-secretion Dick’s rubbing into his skin. Marcel had likened bonding Conservatives to shooting sitting ducks. You can create pack bonds without sex, just using repeated siphoning, but Dick can already smell the hints of the pack bond in the clear, new friendship bond. He has Aiden to thank for that by making Carter a regular lover.

Dick lies on his back resting his head on Carter’s bare shoulder, both slowly coming back from the siphon-high. Carter still has both breeches and his riding boots on, contentedly purring. He lifts his hand to sniff his fingers that had been inside of Dick, still coated in slick. Dick turns his head to follow the movement. “Was that really your first time with an O?”

Carter chuckles awkwardly. “Yes. I’ve had sex with more Alphas than I want to think about. Real sex, I mean. Not like this. But I’ve never touched an Omega beyond hand-holding or a teasing sniff of the gland.”

‘Real sex.’ Conservatives and Primals differ on this point. A Primal will consider blowjobs, handjobs, and frottage as real sex, while Conservatives would often exclude anything but penetrative intercourse in the definition. Dick has questions pressing in his throat, words scratching the back of his teeth, wanting to be let out. 'Do you regret it?' is the most insistent one. He doesn't ask. Just like he never asked about the well-being of the people he liked, after he blew up the Shurley camp. He made a choice he knew would hurt Carter. No reason to poke at it. Instead, he smiles. "Well, it was quite lovely, dear. Will you finish our little experiment and tell me if it worked?”

“What? _Oooh._ ” Carter’s confused wrinkle between his eyes smooths out as he gets it. He tips onto his side, grabs Dick’s face to tilt it so he can access the neck, and attaches his lips over the gland by the ear to suck and lick. It’s the most assertive he’s been all evening. He’s a passive lover―not in that he lies still and just lets it happen, but he doesn’t take the lead, as if he’s waiting to see what’s expected of him first. In a way, it reminds Dick of what Mar was like back in the days before they convinced him he didn’t have to have sex to please others. Dick doesn’t dwell on it or the question ‘Do you regret it?’ might weasel itself out of his mouth. Carter has this thing he does with his left fang, scraping it over the gland as if he’s trying to bite but not quite. It puts him right up there with the best at giving Primal kisses. Nobody can beat Jay, but Carter sure as hell is doing a good job trying. Carter closes his eyes and siphons, resting his forehead against Dick’s.

“So what’s the verdict?” Dick smirks.

Carter opens his eyes, lids heavy from the tail-end of the siphon high. “I’m a goddamn hero, that’s what I am,” he drawls smugly.

Dick laughs a sated laugh. "My health is better?"

"Not a trace of anything being off," Carter confirms and lets a hand slide down to rest on Dick's belly.

"Maybe you should go tell Lucifer's dad of your heroics."

Carter's lips draw up to show teeth in a humorless smirk. "Are you trying to have me killed? James― _Marlon_ , would have me hanged if he took a whiff of me now."

"Mar? Oh, no, dear. I'm talking about Aiden."

"But I've heard Marlon refer to your kit as his son?"

Dick makes a half-shrug. "Packrunners are strange like that. But Aiden is my kit's sire. And he'll be delighted to know you and I are getting better acquainted. He likes you. I know you're lovers."

"Darlin', he's everyone's lover," Carter drawls with a lopsided smirk.

"True. But only once. You're his only regular outpack lover." Dick sniggers at Carter's expression. "Aaand you didn't know that. Interesting,” he states. “It's true, though. He considers you a friend and holds you in high esteem."

Carter's eyes suddenly go wide and his gaze jumps to his hand on Dick's belly as Lucifer, in true attention-seeking fashion, kicks.

Dick laughs again. He both hates and loves when he can feel the kitling move inside of him. "Go tell Aiden that Lucifer and I are doing alright. He's a worrywart. He'll appreciate it. And I'll go see if Mar is ready to have an adult conversation so he won't send you to the gallows at first sight."

* * *

When Carter’s left him Dick takes a deep breath, bracing for the upcoming fight, and goes to find Mar. On impulse, he first goes to check on Jay. The drapes of Jay’s bed canopy are pulled aside. Jay’s asleep, but not alone. Morgan, the older ex-slave boy, is sprawled out like an octopus, taking up enough space for three. Sunflower lies tucked up under Jay’s arm, using his chest for a pillow. Virtue lies on top of Jay, hugging Sunflower with an arm while Sunflower’s holding the big, fluffy, tea-party cat. Dick stands in the doorway listening to their content sleep-purrs for several seconds before he closes the door again. He wishes he could've seen more of them. He's noticed that Sunflower has started to come out of her shell, going from hiding and hissing to almost being clingy towards Jay, but he hasn't seen much of how it happened. He vows to take a couple of hours off to sit down and talk to Jay someday soon, to find out how he feels about being a dad.

Dick checks in on Arvid and Laurent on his way to the stairs. They’re also asleep, Laurent spooning Arvid. Arvid’s pregnant. It had happened when Arvid and Laurent had hung back an extra week before joining the main forces during the raids to free Karen and the other officers. They’d thought Laurent was infertile. They’d been wrong. Unsurprisingly, Mar had been overjoyed, but surprisingly, he hadn’t claimed a fatherly title as he had with Lucifer. It’s another piece of evidence of his love for Laurent. Arvid isn't very far gone yet, but he shows no signs of physical discomforts caused by his condition. Dick hopes it stays that way.

Dick finds Marlon in a smoking room, sunk down on an armchair with Keith naked, riding him. Dick withholds a sigh of relief that Mar hasn't barricaded himself in his room. Mar spots him almost immediately, giving him a cold stare before pulling Keith’s head down for a kiss.

Dick almost chuckles at the demonstrative defiance. Instead, he smiles. “Good evening,” he greets the pair and steps into the room.

Keith pulls away from the kiss and twists so he can see Dick. “Hi,” he answers with a smile but Dick can smell his sudden uncertainty.

“I shan't be long. Marlon, dear. We need to talk. Either come find me when you’re done, or seek me out in the morning,” Dick says.

“Uh-oh. ‘We need to talk,’ is always bad,” Keith says, forehead wrinkling in a concerned frown. “Is this about me? I thought it was okay. I’m sorry.” He starts to pull himself off but Mar grabs his waist and resolutely pushes him back.

Dick shakes his head and walks up to the pair. He sinks down into a crouch beside the armchair and rests one forearm on the armrest to support himself, inwardly cursing how ungainly he’s become with his growing belly. He puts his other hand on Keith’s knee and smiles softly. “This isn’t about you, dear. I’m not jealous. If anything, I’d like to join you. But Mar and I are having problems. They’re caused partly by our duties keeping us apart, partly by my irrational mood-swings making me push him away from me, and,” he turns his head to look at Mar’s blank face and cold eyes, “partly because you didn’t tell me who he was, dear. I had to find out how you knew each other from him.” Dick doesn’t say Carter’s name, but even if Mar hadn’t walked in on them, his scent is still clinging to Dick.

“I’ve told you about him,” Mar answers curtly.

Dick nods. “Mmh. You did. And had he introduced himself as a lecher, debaucher, philanderer, libertine, roué, wastrel, rakehell, goat, scoundrel, satyr, sleaze, striker, stringer, or any of the other synonyms for a reprobate you used for him, I would’ve known. But he didn’t. And he doesn’t fit the description you gave. I naturally assumed your reaction to him was caused by attraction.” He keeps rubbing his thumb gently over Keith’s knee to keep him in place.

Mar’s eyebrows shoot upwards. “How the heck did you make that absurd connection?” 

“Because you act very similar towards him as you do towards Commander Chaadayev. And you two are lovers,” Dick states simply.

“Aleksandr said that?” Mar asks with genuine and concerned surprise.

“No, dearheart. But I’ve walked in on you twice.”

For a moment, Mar has the expression of someone caught with his hand in the cookie jar, wide eyes, and dark red stains blooming on his already rosy cheeks. Then his expression shutters down, eyes going cold and accusing again.

Dick sighs. “Look, dear. I did what I did because Phillip has been waiting for him. But finding out he might be Coombs’ creature gave me an even bigger reason to seduce him.”

“Are you talking about the Major?” Keith asks with a little frown, looking between the pair. He isn't noseblind; he can smell Carter.

“We are, dear.”

“No, no. He can’t be working for the other side. You don’t know him as I do. He cares about us,” Keith hastens to defend his hero.

Mar snorts and Dick smiles. “It’s only natural for us to be suspicious, dear,” Dick says. “Sean was deep undercover in the Union army for years without detection. He received two medals from the enemy because he played his role so convincingly. And you already know about Mar’s time undercover. But you’re probably right. He’s a good man. And tonight went a long way to assure his loyalty so we’ve got nothing to worry about.”

Keith relaxes, looking relieved. Mar’s lip pulls up in distaste, though. “Really? He told you that in the sweet afterglow after he fucked you raw?” he asks, voice full of bitter distaste.

Dick chuckles. “Of course not, sweetheart. Like the stand-up Conservative he is, he won’t knot an O. But he did, however, agree to an experiment. I allowed him to siphon me before we tested his limits of how far he felt comfortable to go with an O, and then he got to siphon me afterward to see how much it had improved my health.”

Dick can see Marlon's expression shift; disgust and jealousy, then realization dawning, then concern and curiosity.

"He concluded that my health had improved significantly so I sent him off to tell Aiden," Dick adds with a meaningful look at Mar. Mar’s face smooths out to something thoughtful. Dick stands up. “Well then. I won’t bother you anymore. I’ll get going. But come talk to me later, dear.”

Mar’s hand shoots out to stop him with a grip on his wrist. “Keith’s never had a threesome,” he says, words tumbling over each other. Then, to Keith, “Richard loves to kiss like Progs do.”

Dick can’t help the little giggle escaping him when Keith reaches for his other hand. “If you were serious about wanting to join…?” Keith asks.

* * *

A few hours later Dick wakes up in Mar’s room, Mar and Keith sleeping.

Dick’s sweating like a pig, overheated, feeling awful. He wiggles himself free from Mar’s arm and slips out of bed to relieve himself. His body’s itching with the don’t-touch-me-leave-me-alone feeling that has put such giant strain on his and Mar’s relationship. It’s not a feeling related to sex. It can hit whether he’s cooped up under a mate’s arm, or alone in his office. Marcel thinks it’s more to do with the stress he’s under than the pregnancy. 

He goes to the toilet, pees, then stops halfway to the door before turning around to open the small window to let the cool night air in. His skin prickles from the chill. He stands several minutes and just breathes in the fresh air, then turns around to look at the door. He turns his head and looks at the shower stall. Cold tile has never looked so inviting before.

Mar and Keith’s asleep. There’s no rush to get back. 

He gives in to temptation and goes to sink down in the shower, getting a jolt to the system from how cold the tile is against his naked skin before embracing the relief of it. “Is this a new thing you’re going to start doing to me?” he asks his belly. “Isn’t it enough with the damn horniness? Do I have to have the fevers too?” He stares accusingly at the belly.

Lucifer isn’t answering.

Dick sighs, closes his eyes and tips his head back against the wall, pulling his knees up towards his chest awkwardly.

He’s not sure how long he’s sat like that when he hears a tentative, “ _Mrrt?_ ” from the doorway.

He opens his eyes to see Mar stand there wearing a thick dressing gown, looking at him questioningly with a worried wrinkle between his eyes.

“Miserable,” Dick answers. The question might have been ‘Can I come in?’ but Dick chooses to interpret it as ‘Are you alright?. “I’m having a heat-spell. And since I was sleeping soundly, Lucifer decided to practice his round kicks on my bladder. I had another one of those get-away-from-me moments and now I’m feeling lonely and abandoned.”

Mar coos soothingly and comes to sit down beside him with a brief hesitant look for permission just before he sits down. Knowing the drill, Dick tilts his neck to give him access to his neck so he can siphon. Mar’s lips and tongue against his neck makes him both want to flip over to present and to bite and hiss ‘don’t touch me’. It was much better when it was only horniness. He wonders what other fuckery the pregnancy will throw his way before it’s over.

“How am I?” Dick asks.

“Good. Perfectly hale and healthy. A bit tired but no pains or aches.”

“And the fever?”

Mar shakes his head. “It’s nothing. Maybe Lucifer’s just as fond of hot soaks as Aiden is?”

Dick lets out a surprised burst of laughter, warm affection blossoming in his chest chasing away the eww-don’t-touch-me feeling. “Figures. Is that tobacco I smell in your pocket?”

Mar digs into his pocket and comes up with a cigarette case and a lighter. He hesitates, an apprehensive look on his face.

Dick realizes Mar doesn't want to share. It's all Doc's fault. Everyone knows alcohol is bad for a kitling, but Doc claims smoking cigarettes is too, so now Dick can't even have that small pleasure. He's overcome with misery. His body's no longer his to control. _Everyone_ but him has a say in what he can and can't do.

Mar's eyes widen a fraction when he smells Dick’s misery. Urgently, he takes two cigarettes from the golden case, puts them in his mouth, lights them, and hands one over.

Dick chirps in surprised gratitude and takes a deep breath of smoke, enjoying the relaxing sensation of the nicotine seeping into his limbs.

Mar smokes in silence for a while, steadily looking at Dick. Then he asks, "Do I have to apologize?"

"For giving away my room?" Dick jokes.

"For what I said, in general," Mar agrees with a small nod.

“If you’ve got anything to apologize for, it’s for not telling me who he is.”

“I’ve told you who he is before,” Mar counters defensively with a frown.

Dick nearly rolls his eyes. “You did. I’m sure you even told me his name. But mostly you taught me new synonyms for reprobate while talking about him, and you’ve got to realize, I can’t even remember the names of everyone in our steadily growing pack. A name you mentioned way before we went to Canada? Forget it. You should've told me at first opportunity after his arrival instead of staring daggers at him hoping I'd magically understand."

Mar stares at the wall in front of him, taking a drag on his cig, not responding for several seconds as if he needs time to dwell on what Dick just said. "I apologize," he says at last. "And for what I said too. He can't _actually_ have you." Dick doesn't know whether to laugh or cry. He bites his tongue not to snipe that that’s not up to Mar to decide. Mar turns his head to look at him. “You said Phillip had been waiting for him?”

“Yes. He never said Carter’s name. He talked about the gardener and in the next breath referred to him as the darned Aristocrat. Then recently I saw Phillip give our, at the time, very confused Major, instructions concerning gardening.”

Mar’s eyebrows pull into a troubled frown. “I understood you correctly and we’re sniping him?”

Dick nods. "We are. Do you really think he's Coombs' lackey?" he asks and takes another blessed drag on the cigarette. 

Mar bends his neck to stare at the tiles under them, lips pinched to a line, and eyebrows creased to a small frown. Dick has time to take one more drag on his cigarette before Mar answers. “I… He’s doing a good job of convincing everyone that he isn't. He even saved my life on our last raid, but…”

“But you still carry devotion to Coombs in your heart so you can’t imagine he doesn’t?”

Mar's frown deepens. He looks up at Dick. "I've got kitlings and mates in this pack. Don't you _dare_ doubt my loyalty," he says, anger tickling Dick's nose.

“I don’t, dear. But you still love him, don’t you?”

Marlon’s nose scrunches up in distaste, then he averts his gaze. “Can I lie?”

“Like you’re lying about your affair with Aleksandr?”

Again, Mar gets the look of someone caught red-handed doing something they shouldn’t. “… It’s only been a couple of times.”

“Ah, yes. That totally explains why you’re treating him like shit, pretending you despise him when there are people around,” Dick says sarcastically with one final drag of the cigarette before putting it out on the tile beside him.

“He’s infuriating! He’s so big, and strong, and cunning, and unflappable. I can’t do anything to level the playing field. Whatever I do or say he just pats me on my head and calls me cute.”

Dick giggles at Mar’s little outburst. “He doesn’t force you to do anything you don’t want to do when you’re intimate, does he?”

“What? No. Why would he do that?”

Dick reaches out to steal Mar’s cigarette so he can take the last drag on it before putting it out as well. “The last time I walked in on you I’m fairly certain he was knotting you, and I know how you feel about getting knotted.”

Mar’s eyes go comically wide, cheeks turning scarlet, blush creeping all the way down the V of his robe. “He, uh, he’s got a way to make it very pleasurable.” He clears his throat and scowls accusingly. “How often have you seen us? I'm certain we've been very discreet.”

Dick smirks. “Dearheart, I got a medal for spying on the enemy inside of their camp undetected. You don’t think I'd pick up a thing or two happening in my near vicinity?"

"You've been spying on me?"

Dick shakes his head. "No. I've sought privacy, hoping to hide away for a moment, only to discover my chosen spots already taken by your rendezvous with the Commander. Why do you hide your affair with him?"

Marlon shrugs. "Aid doesn't like him. It doesn't matter anyway. Aleksandr will leave. As soon as the war's over, it's sayonara. I don't need him. It doesn't matter," he repeats flippantly.

In other words, it matters. But that's a problem. If Marcel's to be believed, it's next to impossible to snipe a purebred Siberian. They've got a different biology. You can form strong friendship bonds with them, but a pack- or mating bond is another matter. Marcel refused to say why, though. 'Some things I only tell my own pack,' he'd said with that annoying smirk of his. Dick hadn't thought it important at the time.

Dick makes a grabby gesture towards Marlon's pocket and Mar dutifully takes forth two new cigarettes, lights them, and hands one over.

They smoke in silence for a while.

Mar breaks the quiet, staring straight ahead. "Am I a bad mate?"

"No."

"Then why have you been pushing me away?" When Dick doesn't immediately answer, Mar turns his head to glare accusingly at him. "You've been pushing me away," he states demandingly.

"Mh. Not quite. Rather, I've been pushing you towards Arvid," he admits. He takes a drag of his cigarette to win time. "If Lucifer kills me―"

"Don't talk like that."

"If Lucifer kills me, you wouldn't be alone," Dick persists. 

"He won't. I won't let you die. I promise."

Dick snorts. "Last time you said that you fucked off without a word for a year without even telling the rest of the pack that they had a promise to honor. Spare me your grand declarations."

Mar's jaw muscles clench. "So I am a bad mate," he states.

Dick wants to scream. He catches himself before he follows up with his knee jerk impulse to bite Mar's shoulder and rip a piece off. Mar always, _always_ makes it about himself somehow. "Dearheart, I'm a hormonal bomb locked in a constant struggle not to go off. I barely hold it together in public, so my loved ones have to take undeserved abuse because I let my guard down. The damn war keeps me from repairing the damage after I've had a blow-up on you or my other mates. All I want to do is to sleep. I miss my old apartment. Then I remember someone else might be living there now and feel the urge to murder. I constantly feel cornered. And I'm not allowed to drink, take uppers, or even smoke, to relieve any of these feelings inside of me and make life bearable. But, sure. Have it your way. _You're_ the bad mate," Dick finishes sarcastically.

"You miss your old apartment? Why? Your room is bigger than your old apartment."

"It had the perfect nest. And it was high up. Anytime I get this feeling where I want to withdraw and be left alone, I have the impulse to climb to the highest point I can find, and build a nest. I imagine how perfectly safe I'd feel under the rafters in the attic. But I don't trust myself to climb. What if I fall and hurt Lucifer? So I don't. But I want to. Plus, sometimes I woke up there, sheltered by the partition I’d made of the bed, but you guys had stayed the night and were up and about, talking, allowing me privacy and companionship at the same time. I didn’t even know that was something I wanted. Maybe I didn’t back then. But now I always have to choose between being completely alone or having people up-close and personal all the time."

Mar hums thoughtfully and studies him while he smokes.

Dick sighs. After another deep drag on the cigarette, he says, "Don't hurt Carter."

"Of course not. I'll feel better if he's part of the pack."

Dick realizes something. "If you'd asked me to shower before joining you, I would have."

Mar leans in, lets his lips brush Dick's ear, and, as if he’s giving a confession, whispers, "He smells good on your skin." Dick shivers, goosebumps prickling in a way that has nothing to do with the cold.

Lucifer moves again. It looks alien with a little bump shifting over the belly. It’s like he’s saying, “Enough about you. Let’s talk about something interesting - _me_.” Dick loves that little hellion inside of him, no matter how much he messes up Dick’s life. It’s always been like that. Since the first time Dick caught whiff of him back in colleg―   
Dick forgets to breathe, hit with vertigo for a brief moment, heart racing with flashes of standing with his nose pressed to the wall and Crowley (Who the hell is Crowley?) sighing beside him, telling him he’ll be late for class. Lucifer, shirtless, looking so much like Aiden and Jed, with blue eyes that would burn like blood-rubies when he flared, shirtless running the Omega run while people cheered wildly. He’d devastated Dick from the start, causing pain and problems yet Dick couldn't stop yearning for him.

For a moment that feels more real than the present. Then Mar touches him and he can smell fear. Dick turns his head to meet Mar's scared gaze. "What's happening?" Mar asks.

Dick smiles to cover up his confusion. "Gymnastics."

"What do you mean?"

Dick takes Mar's hand to put it over his belly so he too can feel Lucifer move around. Everything about Mar goes still and soft, his smile tender. It takes a moment for Dick to calm down after the hallucinations, or whatever they were, but Mar makes soft chirps at Lucifer, hand warm and steady. It goes a long way to help Dick center himself and chase away the intrusive fake-memories of a life he hasn’t lived.

* * *

"I don't understand why I couldn't have done this at home. This outing was totally unnecessary," Dick complains as he walks up the stairs to the mansion. He's so tired he can barely stand. Since they've been to City Hall he's had to keep up appearances, both in posture and behavior. Over and over when he thought they were done, Marcel had put more paperwork in front of him or shooed him into another meeting. The upside was that Aleksandr brought them lunch, locking the door behind him. He had a box of docile rats and to Dick's surprise, even Marcel dug into them as if he was offered a rare treat.

To be fair, it was a treat. Anytime Aleksandr brought live food, it was dosed with some kind of drug that made life bearable once it hit Dick’s system. Sadly, it's worn off by now.

An hour ago Aleksandr came into the office, told Marcel, 'It's done,' and suddenly Marcel had declared that they were done and should head back, even though he only ten minutes earlier had insisted that it was very important that Dick finished the paperwork first.

"Oh, it was imperative that you went to City Hall today," Marcel says, walking a step behind him. It's a non-answer. Dick wants to punch him.

Aleksandr opens the door and holds it open for them. Naomi waits just inside. She smells excited and smiles brightly. "Good evening, Sir. Did you have a good day?"

"No," Dick deadpans irritably.

"I'm sorry, Sir. You must be tired. Allow me to escort you to your room and get you settled in," she says and turns to lead the way.

Dick frowns in bemusement and throws a look over his shoulder at his companions. Marcel's cheek is dimpling despite his bored appearance, and Aleksandr looks neutral. Dick realizes they're both hiding their scents from him. They've got different techniques and Aleksandr's is more effective against sensitive noses unless it's windy. Marcel clips his scent on and off rapidly, making it even. Aleksandr hides his completely and lets people breathe the scent left of him hanging in the air, then releases it in small bursts that keep it lingering. It fools even keen senses, but has a higher risk of failing and demands greater control and emotional awareness since it requires that you cut off your scent at the onset of the feeling, before it translates to your scent, and that you time your releases to moments of calm. People like Aiden don't catch that because they’re not expecting it, but Dick and Marcel's technique makes them pick up on something being off.

Something strange is going on. Since when does Naomi escort Dick to his damn room? They pass other pack members that also smell excited and smile at him with mischief in their eyes. Dick frowns and looks back at Marcel and Aleksandr. “What’s going on?”

Marcel looks knowing and amused but like the jerk he is, doesn’t answer.

“The pretty, little Alpha boy is good mate, is going on,” Aleksandr says.

“Oh well, that explains everything,” Dick remarks sarcastically.

Ahead of him, Naomi giggles, but doesn’t offer up an answer.

On the way up the stairs, Dick spots Sean leaned against the railing on the landing, grinning at them with bright eyes. Dick chirps in surprise and bounds up the last set of stairs to throw himself into Sean’s arms. Sean spins him around in the air and kisses him when he puts Dick down. Dick pulls back to grin at him, fighting to keep back the tears threatening to come. “I missed you. Are you alright? Will you share my bed tonight? I miss running my fingers through your fur,” Dick says, exhaustion forgotten. Sean spends more time at the front than he does at home. Sometimes when he comes home he only stays for hours. Not when it’s this late, though. Now he’ll be home for the night. Every time Dick sees Sean it’s like letting out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

Sean grins and winks at him. “You know it, baby.” He puts his arm around Dick and starts leading him up the next set of stairs.

Dick’s nearly too distracted to react to the many sets of scent trails leading up and towards his corridor, talking to Sean as their group continues on. But once they reach the corridor the many scents of excited people have Dick frowning. He hears voices hushing, and when they turn into the corridor Dick spots a crowd by his room. Familiar faces smile at him. Aiden, Arvid, Mar, Jed, Laurent, Jay, Sunny, Virtue, Jane, Sandra, and a few others.

Dick stops. “Okay, what’s going on?” he asks with an uncertain frown.

Mar makes a sweeping gesture towards Dick’s room. Dick frees himself from his entourage and uncertainly walks up to his room. He hears someone giggle in the back, a sense of anticipation hanging over the crowd. Dick opens his door and steps inside, terrified of what he might find.

He doesn’t recognize his room. 

The first thing he sees is that his desk has been replaced by an L-shaped one that allows four people to sit at once if they crowd together or two if they need space. It’s straight across from the door, the angle of it boxing in the corner of the room but leaving enough space from the wall to get into the comfortable chair inside. The two armchairs are still where they used to be by the wall beside the new desk, but there’s a small dining table with three chairs next to the door, and…

Dick stares at the odd-looking monstrosity of a bed that takes up half the room now. He’d considered his bed big before, but this?

It’s not a regular bed. Firstly, it’s mounted on four steel beams that go all the way up to the ceiling. There’s a ladder welded to one of the beams. The bed has a low rail around it and it looks like a nightstand is also welded to the rail. There’s even a small gate that can be opened beside the ladder, to get in and out smoothly if you’re not limber enough to climb. Dick blinks in confusion. He looks at the mess on top of the mattress and realizes it isn’t a bed: It’s a nest. The rail is necessary to keep all the blankets and pillows from falling out.

He’s stunned.

Mar pushes past him and rubs his temple against Dick’s shoulder. “You said you wanted to get up high and make a nest but didn’t dare to climb,” he says. “I solved it. Look at this.” Mar goes to the bed and gets on it, sits down cross-legged and upright, then touches something on one of the steel beams. The bed starts moving upward with a low, whirring sound. Mar grins triumphantly. The bed stops, leaving a few inches between his head and the ceiling. That’s when Dick notes that there are shelves mounted below the ceiling, and what looks like a dark curtain. “It’s what you wanted, right? You can lower it from up here too, of course. And you’ve said you want to be left alone but don’t want to be alone, so when you want privacy, we can be down there, and you can…” Mar grabs the curtain and pulls it until it covers the bed completely. It only covers the bed and leaves the space below open. Technically, if the bed didn’t have to come down, you could put furniture underneath. “When it’s light in the room but not in here, you can see through the fabric, but whatever’s in here is hidden,” Mar says and pokes his head out from the side of the curtain to grin at him.

“Mal, I, and your mates all marked up a pillow or blanket each,” Laurent says from behind, making Dick turn around. “I remember how much you wanted the scent of people you love around you in your old nest. I know you can mark stuff up yourself now, but we figured we could always be close to you even if we’re occupied elsewhere like that. I told Jay to mark something up too, but he refused, thinking you wouldn’t want that. So we decided you could choose yourself who you wanted to mark pillows and blankets.”

"It had to be steel,” Jed chips in and points at the beams. “Both to carry the weight of many people, and so that nobody could stand below and fire a gun through the bottom.”

“It took time to install. Is why you had to be in City Hall, yeah?” Aleksandr says.

Mar vaults over the rail and lands gracefully on his feet, slaps the button to lower the bed again, then looks expectantly at Dick. "Do you like it?"

Dick looks around. The table, the desk, the incredible lift-nest. His lower lip wobbles. He slaps a hand over his mouth as if it somehow could stop the tears from coming despite the onslaught of emotions. He hears Aiden chirp happily and Aleksandr purr contentedly before he starts sobbing. He'd hate how easily he cries these days except he's too damned happy. He's soon swarmed by the people he loves, getting affectionate temple rubs and touches, hugging each of them in turn.

The nest is perfect. That night he falls asleep with Sean spooning him and Mal pressed belly to belly with him. She's giggling. When her belly pressed against his, Lucifer kicked and Michael stirred. The last thing Dick hears is Mal telling Aiden who's spooning her, "Mercury! It feels like he's trying to climb over to Lucifer."

He wakes up with Jed snoring at the bottom of his bed, but otherwise alone. He can hear laughter and chatter from below, so he shuffles so he can look through the fibers of the drape. Just like Mar said, the light in the room makes it possible to see fairly well through the fabric. Marcel sits by the desk with his back to the door, working. Aleksandr, Arvid, and Jay sit by the table playing poker, ribbing each other, joking, having fun. 

Once again, Dick's heart is too big for his chest. This. Shielded from the world, close to his loved ones, part of the company but also in complete privacy. In a nest full of the scents of people who mean something. Marlon couldn't have given him a better home if he'd had more time, space, and resources.

He's a damned fine mate as long as the two of them actually talk.

* * *


	36. Through the Window, Across the Veil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick's health is waning, and with it, his grasp of reality and time-continuity. He's despairing his lack of mobility, and longs to be able to move around freely again. On the bright side, he's developing some important relationships.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y'all are doing well. :) I'm currently unemployed which is good because Covid is spiking in my town so I'm hiding at home. ^^ 
> 
> A huge thank you to my Betas, Lisa and Melina! I don't know what I'd do without you. <3
> 
> You all know I often let our world overlap with theirs, and it's always been clear to me that the song Knuckles wrote that Dick sang back to him in Dick's apartment, is a song existing in our world. I've been trying to figure out what song Knuckles sang that Dick got stuck on. It exists back in the future too, but sung by someone else and it sounds very different from how Knuckles sang it. I had a song by the Cranberries in mind but when I went through the lyrics I realized it was too modern and had elements that wouldn't fit with Knuckles' mindset. So back to scratch. The next song I had lined up had too religious lyrics when I read them through. Then, yesterday, I stumbled over a cover of a very familiar song I've never really liked, but it sounded different enough from the original and I just knew. That was it. It's perfect. It's not how Knuckles sang it and definitely not his gritty rock voice, but the lyrics work and they're a perfect nod to SPN. I especially felt that "Masquerading as a man with a reason. My charade is the event of the season. And if I claim to be a wise man, well, It surely means that I don't know." works as something Knuckles might have written.
> 
> [The song.](https://youtu.be/d9xsiKZUK-U)
> 
> I feel like the choice has bad timing after the finale, but I'm sticking with it.

* * *

Dick stands by Jed’s office window, looking down at the yard. From here, he has a perfect view of the spot where people train in hand-to-hand combat outdoors. He’s in here with Marcel to look through financial portfolios for the Williams Corp. Jed, as he is almost always nowadays, is at the war council. Dick has good and bad days. He’s better now than he’d been before, both because of his new retreat and Aleksandr keeping him fed. But he feels weaker and weaker even in his best moments. He longs to be out there, moving, doing things, not lurking like a ghost in windows, exhausted simply from walking up and down the stairs. It feels like he’s relegated to watching through windows as life goes on without him. Behind him, Phillip and Marcel are, well, not arguing exactly, but…

“Yes, I understand you think this is important, Phillip. But I don’t understand what an internet service provider is and why we need to switch in Wilson?” Marcel says, enunciating the words extra clearly as if that somehow would encourage Phillip to make sense. 

“I never took you for this dull, boy. I told you, they can’t handle that amount of traffic, and their technology is outdated. The service will go down for days and stop the Natsukashii deal from going through,” Phillip explains with apparent impatience in his voice. He whisked in here a few minutes ago, insisting they needed a new internet provider for the office in Wilson (there is no office in Wilson) or some important deal would go to hell. What deal he was talking about and why it’s essential was left unsaid. Dick was already distracted by then, only half-listening, looking at the fighters down below and yearning to be down with them. That leaves Marcel to try and make sense of it all.

Down below, Aleksandr comes pulling Sunflower along by the wrist. Dick can't hear them, but he can see that she's hissing at him, struggling to get loose. He pulls her to an empty spot and shoves her away so she falls. She scrambles to get up and makes a run for it, but Aleksandr is fast and captures her immediately. He yanks her back and roars in her face until she cowers and licks her lips. Dick frowns, wondering what the hell is going on.

"We own the majority of the internet providers, Phillip. Technically, we could simply buy out Connection Inc. and use one of our own companies. But complete monopoly stifles innovation. I think it's better if we let the Tuscaloosa office take over negotiations on the deal. We can shake up Connection after the breach in service. They use our networks in most of their other states. I'm sure that if Connection is forced to choose between putting down more fiber-optic cable in three states or in one city, they'll choose the latter," Dick answers distractedly. Below, Aleksandr gets Sunny into position and seems to explain something to her. He lines up opposite her and makes a series of slow motions. Dick realizes he dragged her out to train her.

"Oh. Yes, yes. Very good. You were always a bright kit," Phillip says. " _See?_ Dick knows what I'm talking about," he adds to Marcel.

"Riiight. The office in Tuscaloosa… in _Alabama_ … Why didn't I think of that…" Marcel answers, slowly and skeptically.

Phillip loses interest in the dolt who isn't following the conversation and walks up to Dick's shoulder to peer curiously at what's caught Dick's attention. His bony shoulders sag. "Oh. It's her," he says disappointedly, almost with disgust.

"You don't like Sunflower?"

Phillip makes a dismissive gesture. " _Pah_. She's alright, I guess. But since she's here, it means Jack won't join us. It's a shame. I’ve never met a newborn. I was looking forward to it. Oh well. You know how it is. Not everyone can be saved. They don’t like it, but _they_ like it that way.” He gives Dick an awkward pat on the shoulder and leaves the room. Dick follows him with his gaze and frowns at the door once he’s gone, trying to make sense of the newborn-comment.

He’s not sure how long he’s stood there when he notices Marcel scrutinizing him with narrowed eyes. “What?” Dick asks.

Marcel doesn’t answer.

Dick turns back to look through the window. There’s a ring of onlookers around Sunny and Aleksandr now. He’s demonstrated something that he makes her do to him, but she doesn’t do it well enough, so he sends her flying, again and again. Dick can see by the spectators' gestures and body language that Sunny’s getting tips and advice shouted at her. 

Marcel comes to stand shoulder to shoulder with him, hands behind his back. “Are you straddling the veil, Dick?”

“Of course not. If I could see the future, I would tell you. Trust me,” Dick chuckles.

Marcel hums. “Then, I need to ask something…”

“Yes?”

“What’s an internet?”

“I don’t know,” Dick answers, his focus on Laurent, who goes to stand beside Sunny. He makes hand gestures, demonstrating both of them being short compared to Aleksandr, explaining something, and then he steps up to take her place, facing off with the Siberian. He’s got his head partly turned, still speaking with Sunny but keeping an eye on Aleksandr, who sinks into position.

“Then how did you know how to answer Phillip?”

Dick tears his attention away from what’s going on below to blink in confusion at Marcel, replaying the conversation with Phillip in his head. “I… I don’t know.” At this moment, he can’t for the life of him understand what he’d told Phillip. There is no office in Tuscaloosa. If there was, it would’ve been burned, and the workers taken prisoners since the Aristocrats are currently in control of Alabama. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t figure out what fiber-optics or internet providers are. It _feels_ like he should know, but he doesn’t.

Marcel starts purring soothingly and grabs his upper arm with a guarded look on his face when Dich starts reeking of distress. “How long has it been going on?”

“What?”

"Do I have to smack you? Don't play dumb."

"Oh. You mean the brief hallucinations that feel more real than life and leave me completely confused and disoriented when they leave?” Dick chuckles dismissively. “Years. I’ve had maybe one to four episodes yearly since I presented. But I have no idea what I told Phillip. No matter how much I concentrate. I was distracted and just said something.”

“So you didn’t focus, and the right thing to say just came out,” Marcel says slowly. “Tell me, these hallucinations of yours, what do they show you?”

“I don’t want to talk about it, dear.”

Marcel squeezes his arm. “I insist,” he says, and lets go.

Dick makes an impatient noise and frowns at him. “Why? It’s not like it makes sense. Recently, I had flashes of meeting Lucifer for the first time at college. We were the same age. So you see how little sense _that_ makes. These hallucinations, visions, intrusive thoughts, if you will, come and go in a few seconds. They scare me, even though they're rarely bad, per se. They feel authentic, and when I come back from them, I'm confused for a moment before I figure out what's _actually_ real."

Marcel frowns, mouth pressed to a concerned line. He briefly looks at the door, then back at Dick. “Would you do me a favor? Next time you catch Phillip for an idle chat, talk about whatever you've seen in your hallucinations. Talk about it as you would talk about real experiences. Then tell me how he responded."

"I'm not a veil-walker," Dick says decisively.

"I'm sure you're right. But maybe you're reborn, and something went wrong with the cleansing of your soul. Or maybe you have a soul-connection with someone and get glimpses of their mind. Or maybe the veil is thinner around you because you've lived on the verge of death for the greater part of your life." Marcel takes a deep breath and lets it out in a rush. "Normally, I'd say hallucinations are just that, hallucinations. But since you answered Phillip with what he needed to hear? I don't know. The tomes of Maluk hold a lot of mystic knowledge. But I haven't read them in their entirety since I was a Juvie. Maybe if I'd chosen the path of a priest instead of a scholar… but I didn't, and I've forgotten a lot."

"A priest?"

"A spiritual guide. A preacher. Someone who devotes themselves to the study of a god's scripture and helps others understand the god's will."

"So… you didn't become a priest of Maluk…" Dick reaches out to stroke a hand over Marcel's strict robe. "Instead, you became one for the Star."

Marcel lets out a surprised laugh. "Yes. Very good. I've been acting much like a priest for the Conservatives in the household. It's funny how rare it is for them to have priests," he muses.

"What does Maluk think of that?"

"Maluk isn't a jealous deity. As long as you honor his rules, he gladly shares his worshippers. I’m sure he finds my new,” he pauses and wets his lips while choosing his words, “ _position_ ,” he settles on with a smirk, “hilarious.”

Dick smirks. He’s about to respond when he throws a look out of the window and gets distracted. 

The ring of spectators around Aleksandr and Laurent are going wild. Aleksandr's on the ground, scrambling, rolling, desperately trying to get away, to get up. Laurent’s relentless, skipping around like a squirrel, landing kicks, dodging swipes, never being where he was the second before, effectively preventing Aleksandr from getting up, keeping him on defense.

Suddenly Aleksandr makes a rapid, massive shift. Thick fur, a cranial shift to fit the gigantic fangs, and long, sharp claws extending. Even his torso shifts visibly.

Marcel sucks in a breath between his teeth and leans his hip against the window sill, his arms crossed over his chest. "Ooh. That has to hurt," he chuckles. "If Mila had done that so quickly, she'd have five minutes tops to fight then be useless for days."

The changed physique gives Aleksandr enough edge to flip to all fours and launch an unbalanced attack that Laurent barely evades. Laurent puts some distance between them, enough that Aleksandr could get up if he wanted, but he remains crouched down, poised for another launch.

“Now would be a good time to get a spear,” Marcel comments. “When he’s shifted his hips and legs like that, it’s more like fighting a snowtiger, and you don’t want to get up close with one of those.”

“His hips?” Dick doesn’t see that. Aleksandr still looks human to him, even with the catlike face, ears, and sloped shoulders.

"Mmh," Marcel hums and twists to lean his hands on the sill and his forehead against the glass. "Fascinating," he remarks. "Mila would abstain from flaring and shifting in public. The good Commander doesn't, and I suspect that is part of what makes him so successful where she wasn’t.”

“She led a powerful pack. I wouldn’t call her unsuccessful.”

Laurent and Aleksandr circle each other. Laurent suddenly stops moving and smiles. He hunkers down a bit, licking his lips. Aleksandr stops showing his teeth but remains on guard, ears slicked back.

“Look at that. Your boy gave the good Commander quite a scare,” Marcel purrs. “Honestly, in a fair fight, I wouldn’t know who to bet on; the monkey or the tiger. But if Laurent posed a real threat to our honorable Commander, it wouldn’t be a fair fight. See Cowbell, Doris, and Esa?” he makes a vague gesture towards the ring of onlookers. Dick almost asks how the hell he’s supposed to know who they are, but then he sees it. Three of the mercs are moving discreetly, putting themselves in position with grim faces, with the air of snakes coiled to strike in defense of their leader. They’re not taking for granted that this is a friendly sparring match. 

Marcel side-eyes Dick with a little smirk. “You see it?” he asks. Dick nods. “Laurent has weaknesses. One-to-one, he's possibly the best fighter I've ever seen, but with multiple enemies, he loses focus very quickly. Plus, he doesn't have the psyche of a murderer like your other mates. On the other hand, _they_ come from a long line of selective breeding with the psyche in focus. If Laurent was born a Williams, he'd be, with the risk of sounding crude, a cull."

Dick turns his head to frown at him. “I beg your pardon? Are you comparing Laurent to a pedigreed puppy that doesn’t measure up to the standards of a breeding program?” he asks, offended on Laurent’s behalf.

Marcel purses his lips in thought, ignoring the ire directed his way. "No… perhaps not. He'd probably be singled out by an O of your kind to father her second or third kit, as an experiment."

"An O of _my kind_?"

"Oh, yes. You've got the psyche. You're the essence of what a Williams is. Down to the blow-up-a-camp-of-allies-to-save-one-man. It's no wonder you've fallen for your Williams mates. You share their madness and hunger. But you recognize the good qualities of the more mild-mannered Hale and would consider breeding with him in the hope your offspring would inherit your fire."

"Would you please stop talking like we choose our mates based on principles of animal husbandry?"

"But you do. Subconsciously. Besides, this is my field. Psychology is more of a hobby."

“What do you mean? I thought you were a professor of psychology?”

Marcel smirks. "Dear kit, back in my day, modern psychology, as you know it, didn't exist and was only accepted by the scientific community 17 years ago. My current degree is forged, even if my knowledge isn't. I’ve devoured every scrap of published research in this new field of science since it was acknowledged.” He shakes his head. “No, Mila chose for me to become a professor of biological anthropology and eugenics to figure out how to best get rid of you wolfcats and breed a better race. She could never wrap her head around how you, with all your physical inferiority, could be so dominant. Not even when I explained it."

Dick scoffs.

Marcel sniggers. "Don't be so offended. It's true. A Siberian is stronger, can go longer without food, has sharper, longer claws and fangs. They have venom and are bigger. If you pitted two equally sized packs one of each race to fight each other, the Siberians would win, I have no doubt. Just look at the man down there,” he says and gestures at Chaadayev. The Commander has his ears perked forward now, posture less guarded while Laurent stands beside Sunflower, showing her how to stand and to move. Aleksandr lines up into position in front of her. Marcel continues. “They weren’t defeated in battle. They were swarmed, starved out of their territories, and those who were left all failed in one department. You know what makes the wolfcat descendants the most successful human race? Sex. You will fuck _anything_. I'm not kidding. One in ten wolfcats will look at Chaadayev shifted and get hot and bothered. One in a thousand Siberians would look at one of you and feel the same."

"Then why are there mix-breeds?"

"Seduction, of course. We are closely enough related that some of our courting behavior is very similar, and you are all so very willing and constantly fertile. You wear down those who resist. And you reproduce fast. By the time a Siberian is ready to have their next kit, your next generation is ready to have their first kit. And the good Commander down there, he's an outlier of his species. He expressed disappointment over Mila being dead, but I'm certain they would've hated each other."

"What do you mean by an outlier?"

"He claims to have searched for other Siberians since he left the motherland. So did Mila. But they searched differently. It's like they both set out to pick a certain kind of berry. Mila assessed where she was most likely to find the berries and only searched there, ignoring every other option. He wandered off in a random direction and stopped to eat anything that came in his path, never really being hungry for the berry."

"So what you're saying is that he'll fuck anything," Dick states drily. Marcel grins and winks. "But Mila did too, or you wouldn't exist."

"No. Not at first. Not until surviving Siberians became more difficult to find. Even then, it was a tactical decision on her part. One she suffered through stubbornly. And only with mix-breeds. Our beloved Tony and I have more Siberian blood than wolfcat blood in us. Tony more than I, since his mother was a full-blood. You saw how excited Chaadayev was about scenting me when you introduced us. I smell like a Siberian.”

“You smell nothing like a Siberian."

Marcel looks at him with pity and amusement. "Don't I? Didn't Mila? Tony? Marty? Or does Chaadayev smell of something else that you think is the Siberian scent?"

Oh. 

Dick frowns. Mila and Aleksandr didn't smell the same. He looks at Aleksandr, now repeating a slow sequence of movements that Sunny has to counter under Laurent's tutelage. When she fails, Laurent demonstrates, slowly this time, but Aleksandr tenses up, very on his guard. "He's afraid of Laurent…" Dick realizes. "He thinks Laurent could take him."

"He's afraid of you too. It doesn't shame him to be cautious. It’s why he’s alive."

Dick shakes his head. It's absurd to think that the big, intimidating Alpha fears him. But between Mila and Aleksandr, Dick's money would've been on Aleksandr. And Aleksandr is cautious of Laurent. He turns his head to glare accusingly at Marcel. "Antoine could have lived."

Marcel's amusement is traded for anger in a flash. "Do I need to slap you, boy? Don't you dare go there," he says coldly.

"All I'm saying is that Laurent could have taken Mila."

"I know what you meant. At what cost? The only way the pack would've accepted it, was if he too was a member. Tony decked me for even suggesting it, so don't you dare put the blame on me for honoring his wish. Don't get on a high horse with me, kit. Don't."

Below them, Laurent pauses the exercise to walk up to Aleksandr, hunkering down, head tilted to expose his neck, licking his lips, submissive in every inch. When he's only two feet away, Aleksandr grabs him by the arm, pulls him close, opening his catlike maw wide, and bites Laurent’s neck, momentarily filling Dick with icy dread. But it's a soft bite, a display of dominance, and Laurent relaxes into it, ultimately reassuring Aleksandr that, even if they barely know each other, he's friendly and not a threat. Aleksandr releases the arm to stroke Laurent over the back with visible gentleness. It reminds Dick of Marlon: A Primal promise of protection in exchange for complete submission. This is what makes Laurent happy. To make it personal, make friends, be soft and friendly.

Marcel’s right. Dick once vowed to get Laurent away from the violence he hates. And that was violence against strangers. If Laurent had been recruited by the Boltons only to be manipulated into a fight against their Main who he'd bonded to, the mental toll would have been too devastating a price for him to pay. And that’s if he even could have overcome the compulsion to protect her.

Dick sighs, closes his eyes and leans his forehead against Marcel's shoulder. Marcel's still rigid with anger, the spiky scent of him tickles Dick's nose. "I apologize, dear. I miss him. I wish he was still around. I only got to scrape the surface of his complex personality. It's not enough. I don't put any blame on you."

The air goes out of Marcel. "Well, that makes you the only one of us," he mutters as he shifts to face Dick and wrap his arms around him, cupping the back of Dick's head to keep him leaning on his shoulder. Dick's not sure if Marcel's trying to comfort himself or Dick. "My son is dead. We're better off not dwelling on what could've been lest we get blinded by fantasies and fail to protect those still living."

Dick grimaces, face hidden by Marcel's shoulder. "Do you never dwell on the past?"

Marcel chuckles humorlessly. "Some days I do nothing but. How could I not, when I'm alone?"

“You don’t have to be.”

“This is my first taste of freedom in over 80 years of life. I’m not in a rush to give that up. So unless you’re offering to leave your pack and start a new one with me, the answer is no.”

Dick hadn’t thought of it that way.

* * *

Dick never gets the chance to conduct the experiment Marcel bade him try.

Watching from a window, he sees Phillip and Mar build a Pyre. His gut twists when Phillip climbs up on it. But he doesn't move from his spot by the window; instead, he remains watching through the last goodbyes, through Mar giving Phillip an apple, through Phillip’s last breath, and through the lighting of the Pyre.

Jason comes running, and his cry of anguish can be heard even through the glass panes of the window as Mar catches him and holds him.

“I knew you were leaving, Phillip, but you could’ve taken the time to say a proper goodbye to Jay. He needed you,” Dick scolds the empty room.

“Pah. He’ll be alright in this go-around,” Phillip’s voice dismisses with a clearer tone than Dick’s heard before. A young, slim man with straight posture and short, brown hair comes to stand beside Dick, keeping his hands behind his back while he watches the mourners below. He’s got a sharp gaze behind round glasses, and his hair moves in the wind. Except there is no wind inside, and Dick can’t smell him. “He always survives, no matter what happens. Darkened to the point of evil sometimes, mind you, but he always survives. More stubborn than you, that one. Mark my words.”

“Still, he made you his father-figure. He’s lost one already. You could at least have offered him a farewell and some reassurance.”

Phillip blinks in surprise and turns his head to pin Dick with a keen gaze, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose in his trademark gesture. But there’s nothing owlish about him anymore. Age took a significant toll on him, and it’s obvious to see when it’s stripped away. He’s not as tall as Aid, Jed, Mar, and Sean, but he’s above average, maybe 5 ft 11. Without all the wrinkles, Dick can see the likeness to Jed and the others around the eyes, cheekbones, and chin. His face is thinner and diamond-shaped rather than oval like that of his later relatives. While fairer than the average American, his skin is still darker than later generations of the Williamses, showing more of the Native American heritage that is prevalent in the majority of Americans since the influx of Europeans, Asians, and Africans is relatively new. “I’m just a man, you know. It’s hard for me when they go all leaky. I could tell Marlon I’d be seeing him later, but I can make no such guarantees to Jason. That hinges on your decisions,” Phillip says, narrowing his eyes and tilting his head curiously. He takes an apple out of his pocket and takes a bite while waiting for Dick to answer.

“I have no intention of throwing him out if that’s what you think.”

Phillip raises his eyebrows in surprise. “You can hear me!”

Dick picks the apple out of Phillip’s hand. “No, I’m just really good at pretending,” he says and takes a bite of the stolen apple. It’s sweet, tart, and juicy. It threatens to make Dick’s stomach turn, but not because of the usual nausea. Instead, it’s the thought that this might be the apple that’s burning outside as they speak.

Phillip scoffs. “Don’t get uppity, kit. I’ve had loads of conversations with you that you couldn’t hear. I’ve told you, chronology is hard for me,” he says and yanks his apple back. He looks at the place where Dick took a bite with a little frown, then his forehead smooths out, and he gets a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, looking back at Dick. “Heh. Did I tell you about working as our chronicler? They kept getting things wrong, so I offered to take over. But, like I said, chronology is hard for me, so I ended up writing things out of order. That’s not good. They don’t like that, oh no, they don’t. As if life would somehow cease just because you write down a couple of things that _supposedly_ haven’t happened yet,” he rolls his eyes. “They don't want us to be prescient.” He sniggers. “I had to rewrite the whole darn thing to fix it. It was hell, I’ll tell you. Faking the handwriting of the previous chroniclers was the worst. You should’ve heard them. ‘Oh no, my capital letters don’t look like that! You forgot the flair! You’re leaning the letters the wrong direction’. Nag, nag, nag until I could barely think. I’m a perfectionist, you know? It runs in the family, it does. But they were such a nuisance I messed up several times and forgot a couple of years and some people entirely.” He giggles and shakes his head. “Luckily, Marlon told me you can remove a couple of years as you please. A decade or two down the line, nobody even notices. Heh.” He chuckles and takes a bite of his apple, eyes twinkling with mirth.

“That’s why you were missing in the chronicles. The years we ceased to exist…” Dick says driftingly.

“Mpff.” Phillip gives him an insulted look while he chews. “Point out my mistakes to me, by all means,” he says sarcastically. “Nevermind I just told you I’m a perfectionist. Oh no, you don’t care about that.”

But Dick’s mind is drifting in another direction. “Am I dead?” he asks instead.

“No. Don’t be silly. You wouldn’t be here if you were.”

“But why can I see you?”

“You’ll have to ask Aiden. He’s the one who dragged you here.” Phillip makes a dismissive gesture with his hand and turns to look out of the window again, watching the people gathered by the Pyre in his honor. Jason’s sunk to his knees and is crying his heart out, sorrow tangible even from up here, while Mar sits beside him, holding him and rocking him. Phillip eats his apple to the core, getting a saddened look on his face. He drops the apple-core, but it disappears before it hits the ground. “I never had many friends, you know? _They_ drown out any chance of that with their incessant chatter.”

“Jay didn’t mind them,” Dick says.

Phillip shakes his head slowly. “I’m going to miss him. It’s the first time I met him. When I look in other directions, I can see we won’t meet organically. But if we did meet in any other way, he’d always take time to befriend me, even in his darkest form.” He turns around to face Dick again, eyes sad. “Excuse an old man for not sticking around to face his own heartbreak. He needs to die with a pack bond, or we won’t meet. It won’t happen unless you stick around here and―” Suddenly, he scowls at something to Dick’s left. “I know! Sheesh, woman, get off my back. I won’t tell him that.” He rolls his eyes and looks back at Dick. “When you meet him at the fundraiser in Tulsa, will you tell him I miss him and valued his companionship?”

Dick hesitates, opening his mouth to answer, confused by the mention of a fundraiser.

Phillip throws one more sad look at the window, then, between one blink and another, he’s gone.

Dick’s left with his heart in his throat, unsure if he’d hallucinated everything. Later, he tells Jay that Phillip said he misses him and that he asks forgiveness for not saying goodbye because he couldn’t face his own heartbreak while he died. Jay’s crushed, but he isn’t facing the sadness alone. Mar, Aid, Leoh, Jane, and all three of Jay’s kits take turns being with him, trying to cheer him up, and the tea party cat follows him around to jump up on him for cuddles anytime he sits or lies down. All while Dick’s trying and failing to make sense of the things Phillip said. He even goes to look through the chronicles in search of proof. But there’s nothing. If Phillip truly had forged old chronicles, he’d rewritten them very well, in different languages and handwriting. Dick’s more convinced than ever he’d just hallucinated.

* * *

"Naomi, could you come here for a sec? I want to show you something."

Naomi hooks her duster on her belt and comes to stand beside him at the window in Dick’s bedroom, looking at him inquisitively.

Dick points at a bench in what’s left of the garden after the premises were overtaken by camping soldiers. There’s a little park left with a fountain, hedges, neat gravel walkways and benches. “You see Major Wadsworth over there?”

Carter sits with his elbows on his thighs, head bent, and hands burrowed in his hair, gripping it tightly. He lets go to lift his head, dragging his hands over his face, then up to smooth over his hair again. His eyes are wide and haunted, looking around, his brows scrunched into mournful concern. 

Naomi nods.

“His bond has settled, and he didn’t see it coming. Now the bond compulsion has him in its grip, and he’s fighting it. That’s what I was planning to do to you before I thought better of it. I still aim to see you bond with us for life, but that anguish you see on his face? That desperation and defeat? I don’t want that for you.”

“I appreciate that, Richard.”

As always, when she uses his name, Dick startles inwardly in a pleasant way, warm and fluttery. He smiles. “We had solid reasons to believe he’s an Aristocratic agent. But he’s popular, and we have no proof. Under those circumstances, betrayal could cost many lives. I can’t afford that risk. Especially not since Aiden adores him and considers him a close friend. He’s in our inner circle.”

“You don’t have to explain your motives to me. I can see the reason for your actions.”

Dick sighs and leans on the window sill, pressing his forehead against the cold glass. “Maybe I need to justify it to myself?”

“How do you mean?”

Dick rolls his face along the glass to look at her. “I might be biased. He’s so. Very. _Dashing,_ ” he says. 

Naomi’s lips twitch. She looks out the window just as someone walks through the garden. Carter composes himself, straightening his back, nodding a dignified greeting with a charming smile at the person passing. “That, he certainly is…” Naomi says quietly, expression going soft and admiring.

Dick can’t help himself; he smirks. “Aha. So you did join us to ogle him that first day, huh?”

Naomi sniffs indignantly and sticks her nose in the air, but when she side-eyes Dick, her eyes convey only humor. “ _Somebody_ had to keep an eye on him.”

Dick gives her a teethed grin. “Frankly, dear, it’s taking one’s eyes _off_ him that’s the hard part.” Naomi’s faux-indignance drops, and the two of them giggle together. Down in the garden, Carter’s once again alone to hide his face in his hands. “Do you think the mating bonds and love shared by us who have multiple bonds are less than the unity shared by a monogamous couple?” Dick asks, letting himself be more serious.

Naomi’s taken off guard. “I…” She looks thoughtful, unsure how to answer.

“I’m only asking because I struggle with that question myself. My parents taught me that the mating bond is sacred, the only strong bond you should have, the only bond that matters. My parents were very close, and the love they shared was undeniable and strong. Sure, they fought sometimes, but when examining my kithood memories, I can see that they were always an unwavering team. There’s a certain kind of intimacy that can only be had by shutting out the rest of the world. I know this because of my first Patriarch, Antoine. Back before the war, I lured him to my place and tricked him into staying. At the time, I didn’t know I’d presented. I knew very little about how packbonds are formed. I intended to steal him away from his pack, but I had no idea I was capable of bonding him. That week and a half we spent together… I don’t think I’ve ever been so close to anyone, before or after. I got to know him so fast and try as I might, I can’t replicate that with my mates. It’s hard to find alone-time with them, and the stolen moments we get don’t offer that same intense connection. I often feel like a bad mate because of it.”

“But were you mated to Antoine?”

Dick shakes his head.

“Then you’re equating ducks with cows,” Naomi points out. “You’re not doubting the value of your mating bonds, but rather your relationships in general, I think?”

That’s a new angle for Dick. “Maybe you’re right.”

Naomi looks at Carter, still on the bench outside. “I think… maybe we’ve built up such high expectations of what getting mated should mean, that when circumstances prevent us from recreating that ideal, we see it as some kind of failure. So, no. Today, having lived close to a pack for so long, I don’t think having several mates lessens the unity. It’s not the answer I would’ve given a year ago. But today, it is. I just have to look at your mates to know that. Laurent, for instance, would be miserable in a relationship like the ones we’re brought up to idealize.”

“Oh?”

Naomi nods. “I think so. I’ve never met anyone so outgoing. He has those stolen moments you talk about, with you, Marlon, and Arvid, and I can see that he treasures them. I know he wants the three of you around as much as possible, but he loves being around several people at once. I’ve never ever seen him seek complete solitude. Not like Marlon or the Commander.” She chuckles. “Those two could probably go days without even realizing they’re alone.”

Dick hums. "Can we sit down? My lower back is killing me."

"Of course."

They sit down by the table where Aleksandr and Arvid often play cards when Dick's in bed. Dick takes the opportunity to pour them a glass of water each from a pitcher, wanting to be the one to wait on Naomi for a change. “You ever think about Alphas?” he asks.

Naomi smiles and looks at her lap. “I think about boys… a lot, I admit. Some catch my fancy, and others make me… want to sin. Or a combination thereof. I know I’m supposed to concern myself with finding a mate, but…”

“But in walks men like Carter and finding a mate is suddenly not as important as finding them shirtless,” Dick suggests.

Naomi laughs and gives him a bright smile. “Something like that, yes.” She takes a sip of the room-temperature water before she goes on. “After you told me you wanted me to become part of the pack, I started wondering what it would be like. But then a few days ago… I went to wake the Commander up. He was sleeping pelted, and when he woke up, he stretched, flexing his claws, dropping fangs while yawning. Then he shifted into―” she pauses, licks her lips, and chooses her words carefully, “―into the shape I was brought up to think of as human. He _Mrrt_ -ed, asking what I wanted, freed a dead mouse from a mousetrap closeby, and ate it while he listened. Basically, that man did everything I’m supposed to think of as barbaric, crude, and, well, you’ve got a similar upbringing, ideal-wise, so you know I’m supposed to think of it as ‘lesser’.”

Dick nods. A Conservative is refined, above the basic, Primal behaviors.

Naomi gives him an apologetic look. “A little later, some soldiers were heckling me for being a known Conservative, and members of your pack came to my defense unbidden. After that, we got a delivery, and as I was unloading boxes, the Commander appeared again and started helping without a word. A few hand signals, and he'd roped in a team of helpers. Just as we'd finished unloading, someone called to lunch, and I was served along with the rest and expected to eat with them. Jane came by and asked my opinion on household decisions she was about to make. Cornelia flirted with me like she always does. Marlon…” she clears her throat. “We, we exchanged pleasantries.”

Dick smirks. “Oh, I bet. I’m sure the two of you did that thing where you stand too close, stare in each other’s eyes silently thinking all the things you don’t dare to say lest the words have consequences and you’d have to address the tangible attraction between you. But go on.”

“I’m sorry,” Naomi says and shifts awkwardly, giving him another apologetic look.

Dick shakes his head with a smile and makes a gesture to encourage her to go on.

“I taught a class, and several adults sat in the back. Even the Commander joined us and thanked me before he left. Later, I saw him use his break from bodyguard duty to comfort one of the crying kits. Some of the other Conservatives disparagingly call him the-call-of-the-wild behind his back, but I realized he isn’t barbaric at all. He takes care of the people around him. He often speaks Primal instead of English, and he has no qualms about what he eats or how he looks, but he’s not crude or lesser in any way. And when I thought about these things, I saw him as a desirable man for the first time. And…” Naomi smiles at her lap. “While I was having these thoughts, he walked by with a swagger. He looked at me with a smug smirk, said thank you, winked, and kept walking.”

Dick laughs. “That’s also a reaction to smelling someone getting hot and bothered by you,” he grins.

"I was mortified," Naomi giggles. She sobers up. "But that day, I realized the way I was looking at things changed what I saw. I looked at him and saw a barbaric, animalistic brute like I was brought up to do. My parents also brought me up not to judge. They put compassion and loyalty above all else. But they had standards. A man like the Commander wouldn't ever be considered fit for a mateship."

"He's not refined enough to fit the mold," Dick agrees. 

Naomi nods. "The simple fact that he speaks Primal more than English is enough to disqualify him. So I thought about it, and kept my eyes on him, and came to the conclusion that he's very refined. His spoken English is worse than his written English, but he writes British that looks outdated and can be hard to understand. He leads a Company with people from many countries. Most of them aren't multilingual, but they all speak Primal, so he makes himself understood. He's respectful and patient, and he takes care of people around him, kits included. He's very knowledgeable. I've let myself be blinded by the sounds he makes, the size of his fangs, and the fur on his body."

"Are you sweet on him?" Dick asks curiously since he hadn’t picked up on that before.

"What? Oh, oh no,” Naomi chuckles. “No, no. He's a handsome man and all, but no. He's the silent, stoic type. Not really what makes my knees weak. I like graceful, eloquent men with lots of presence and a sly kind of charm.”

Which fits both Mar and Carter. “Like me,” Dick jokes with a canny smirk.

Naomi smiles widely, eyes twinkling. She averts her gaze. “Exactly,” she grins in response, cheeks tinting pink.

“Oh. Oh my,” Dick chuckles. “You’re making me flustered,” he says, only half-jokingly. 

Naomi reaches over to give him a playful shove. “Oh, shush. I have a type. But that’s not what I was trying to tell you,” she says, the broad smile straining her cheeks. 

“I’m sorry, dear. Do go on.”

“That day, when I realized how distinguished the Commander really is, I came to another realization as well. All while I was wondering what it would be like to be part of a pack, I already was. You already treat me like one of you. You’re all very respectful of my virtue, my choice to hold on to my role as your servant, and my faith. But I’ve looked, and I see that you treat each other the same way. So…” She clears her throat and smooths her hands over her thighs. “I’ll be upfront. There’s no doubt in my mind that I will serve you until my dying breath if you let me. I love it here, and I care deeply for several of you. I love the kits to bits, and if we find the Aristocrats on our doorstep, I’ll fight alongside you, as savagely as any of the Commander’s men. But…” she meets Dick’s gaze squarely. “You offered me time. Time to think, to redefine my faith… How much time do I have to make a decision about taking a pack bond?”

Dick reaches over the table to take one of her hands in both of his. “To me, everything happened fast. Joining the pack, getting mated, taking leadership, getting pregnant. In many cases, these things were out of my control. When they weren’t, the choices were forced by circumstances. I often wish I could’ve had more time myself.” He purses his lips thoughtfully then gives her hand a squeeze. “I’m enjoying our budding friendship very much.”

“I do too.”

Dick nods. “As long as you don’t abandon us, you have a guaranteed home amongst us until death claims you by old age, pack bond or not. That’s a promise. I’ll write it down, so it gets honored even if I don’t survive.”

“Thank you. And… I apologize for how I’m looking at your mate. I’ve tried not to be so obvious about how I feel, but he’s so…” She lets out a pining sigh. “When I’m with him, I feel like Icarus flying too close to the sun.”

Dick laughs and gives her hand another squeeze before letting go. “No need to apologize, dear. For starters, Mar is the obvious one, not you.”

“I… it’s impossible not to think about love, and sex, living here. Packrunners will copulate with anyone and aren’t shy about their bodies. With my upbringing and self-discipline, I still waver sometimes. And it’s only the men’s respect that manages to save me from giving in,” Naomi confesses. “During Marlon’s last Rut… you and Arvid were both busy. He was sitting in a room all by himself. You know how much he suffers during his Ruts.”

“I do."

"He, uh. I came in to check if he needed anything. He asked me to sit on his lap. He said he wouldn't touch me but that he would get sexual gratification from it. So, I, I did. And he… he put his hand on my thigh to keep me in place and caressed with his thumb. We just sat there, and I could feel his… his…”

“Sizable erection?” Dick fills in with a smirk.

Naomi giggles and nods at her lap. “I, uh… I wouldn’t have said no. I know he could smell my lust, but he never pushed for more. Even knowing he’s a mated man, I would’ve said yes, and that has nothing to do with being a servant. He’s just so… so…”

“He certainly is, when he puts that side forth,” Dick agrees. “What did you talk about?”

“Nothing. I didn’t dare to speak lest I’d beg for him to, to, you know,” Naomi confesses and hides her face behind her hands, giggling awkwardly. The tips of her ears are red. Dick finds himself grinning, thoroughly endeared. Naomi lowers her hands, turning an embarrassed smile at her lap. “For eternity, we sat there. I know we were both in the same state of arousal. The only sound was the radio and our breathing. He kept looking at me like he was drinking me in and his breath ghosted my skin to give me goosebumps. Then he said, ‘Would you say I’ve kept you from your duties long enough? I’m afraid my self-discipline is running out. You wouldn’t want me to do anything untoward, would you?’ So I agreed and left.”

Dick throws his head back and laughs. “You know how particular he is about wording, right? You understand he was asking for permission to take it further?” he asks with a giddy feeling.

“No, I. Not right then. I’ve suspected it afterward. And I feel guilty towards you and Arvid because if I was ready to throw all decency overboard if I’d been clear on his intentions. I was struggling so hard to keep myself from, from―”

Dick stops her by reaching out to touch her again. “Jealousy is a strange beast. When Jane fell in love, I was angry. I felt inadequate and wanted her to give Jed what I couldn't, so I didn’t like her giving her attention to someone else. But Jed was overjoyed,” he says and withdraws his hand to take a sip of his water. “I couldn't understand why at first. I was happy when Mal and Frederick found each other, but at the same time, that carries a slight aftertaste of jealousy and disappointment that I try to deny, because I thought I would present as an Alpha, and I'd planned to mate her. I wanted Mar to get mated to Arvid in case I die. And I wanted Laurent to get mated to Arvid because he’s had a crush on Arvid forever. But when I see you and Mar interact, you have this tangible tension, and it makes me jittery and gives me butterflies. It’s the polar opposite of what I feel when I watch the chemistry between Jed and Karen. I think that’s because if Jed and Karen find their way back to each other, I stand to lose more than a mate. But you and Mar?” He shakes his head. “I’m infatuated in the undercurrent of romance you two are trying to deny.”

“I don’t, I don’t quite understand that.”

“I don’t either. Not really,” Dick concedes. “I’m starting to. It’s a common way to think amongst Packrunners, and the bond we share in a pack reinforces it since the emotions of those we’re bonded to impact us, thus making us strive to see everyone happy. But Mar is different from most Packrunners when it comes to sex. He’s able to do the deed with anyone by placing his mind outside of his body. You know, like victims of torture sometimes do to withstand pain?” Dick raises an eyebrow pointedly before he goes on. “He loves cuddles, and if they’re submissive enough, he’ll gladly cuddle any stranger that he deems slightly likable. But sex is incredibly intimate for him. To feel sexual attraction at all, there must first be a solid base of emotional attraction and trust. And when he’s in a Rut, he doesn’t want to be touched by anyone he doesn’t love. Alpha or Omega, it doesn’t matter; he’s too vulnerable to dissociate. So when he asked you to sit on his lap, he asked for permission to fantasize about making love to you. I don’t know what sparked his affection for you, but I'm 100% certain it’s real. That’s what my previous comments about possibly sharing a mate with you were about. As for Arvid, he doesn’t have a jealous bone in his body. He loves gossip like you wouldn’t believe, so any developing romances in our circle will excite him. You can ask him if you want. But be prepared to be barraged with questions.”

Both of them giggle. Dick hasn’t felt like this since he and Mal sat on a rooftop talking about Aiden. It feels damn good. Having a conversation with someone that isn’t centered around tactics, the war, politics, or schemes. Naomi’s here, dropping the role of servitude to be herself. A young O with her head full of boys. It’s probably rare for her too, to lower the proper facade to succumb to silly giggles. It makes Dick feel every bit as good as eating one of Aleksandr’s venom-dosed mice.

“We’re making your love life very hard for you, aren’t we?” Dick says with a grin.

“You certainly are. You’re an O, Marlon’s mated, and now you’re stealing the Major too. I’m resigning myself to one day having to mate a Packrunner whether or not I take a pack bond,” Naomi says, rolling her eyes exaggeratedly before grinning.

“You include me?”

“That surprises you? Oh, you’re blushing!” Naomi laughs. “Yes. I seem to have a bias towards men rather than Alphas, and you embody the traits I find alluring.”

“Thank you, dear. It feels good to hear. Lately, I feel more like an ill-tempered sack of tired potatoes,” Dick says and pats his belly. “It’s hard to think I can hold an allure to anyone. The sentiment is returned, by the way. My own bias is towards Alphas, but you and Mal show me I can have romantic feelings towards Os as well.”

Naomi bites her lip over a smile. Dick’s cheeks almost hurt from how hard he’s smiling. They hold each other’s gaze for several, rosy-cheeked seconds before succumbing in a fit of giggles again.

“Have there been any other men in your life before you came to us?” Dick asks, trying to divert the tension with his genuine curiosity.

“Mhm. But you first. Before you got mated, did you have any crushes?”

“Oh, I had lots of kitty-crushes. All it took was for someone to be extra nice to me, and I’d be infatuated for months. But I was lonely. Kept to myself and didn’t trust kindness and friendly overtures. Then, along came Aiden and I was a goner.”

“Aiden? You met him at the same time as Marlon and Laurent, didn’t you?”

“I did, yes, and I’ve loved them from the start too. Like I said, they were nice to me, and that’s all it took. Aiden… he wasn’t necessarily always nice to me, even when he tried. But with him, time stops, and my brain takes a vacation, leaving my heart to simper helplessly. With Mar and Laurent, I think we’re friends first and foremost. Sex and romance are just an added form of intimacy to bring us closer. Aiden, while I consider him one of my closest friends, it’s the other way around, and my romantic feelings take precedence.”

“Oh no,” Naomi puts a hand to her chest. “I’ve heard him say he never wants to get mated. If you could choose just one mate for life, would it be him?” she asks with a hint of pity.

“Perhaps? I’m sure I’d always pine for him otherwise. But out of all the men I’ve known in my life, the one I can most easily see myself going through life with, steadily growing together, is Antoine. He’s dead now, so it isn’t an option. But I’d choose him.”

“Was it love at first sight with him too?”

Dick bursts out laughing. “Dear me, _no_. Oh, dear.” He barely collects himself and sets off laughing again when thinking of his and Knuckles’ first meeting. When he’s finally pulled himself together, he grins at Naomi. “Our first meeting, he beat me unconscious. For years, he and the rest of his pack were the greatest threat I faced. So you can imagine my surprise when I met the Hales and Williamses and saw that he was sitting with them. He was one of their best friends. Every inch of trust between us was hard-earned, and he never expected me to forgive him; he just kept giving. So much of what I know about him today, I learned after his death. But once our friendship took off, it turned out we had loads in common and a great understanding of how the other works. We even shared a passion for music. He’d sit in my kitchen and play guitar while I sang one of the songs he wrote―”

“You can sing?”

“I’m untrained and rusty, but yes. My parents were very musical, and they instilled that passion in my siblings and me.”

“Oooh. Can you sing something for me?” Naomi asks excitedly. “I can’t sing or play any instrument, but any man who can, has my attention,” she chuckles. 

“If you tell me about the men in your past first, I’ll sing you Antoine’s song,” Dick barters.

Naomi nods. “There’s only been one, really. My parents were both teachers. Mom worked as a teacher in a strict, Conservative school here in New York. I was allowed to go there as a perk. Dad was a private tutor for a wealthy family, and we stayed with him over the weekends. I was a precocious, diligent kit and was ahead of my class, so dad asked if I could come to stay with him so he could teach me alongside the Juvie he was tutoring. That’s how I met Jesse. That’s also where I discovered how much fun teaching is. I helped teach the two youngest kits as well as the servants, then shared lessons with Jesse. He was three years older than me and the most perfect boy I’d ever met. He had those aristocratic manners and grace, but in private, he’d show a sly, wild side.” she smiles with a nostalgic expression. “We hit it off as friends right away. At first, I think my crush was pretty one-sided. I was ten and he thirteen, so I think he saw me as just a kit that was fun to be around. But as I entered my Juvies, it changed. It happened around the time the school mom worked in was hit by a bomb. Jesse's family offered mom a teaching position at the estate as well, and we were given a small apartment in the back of their mansion.”

This is shocking news. It gives Naomi a much more deeply rooted connection to the Aristocrats than Dick had ever suspected. But she’s talking openly about it, so he tries not to be alarmed. “By then, the crush wasn’t one-sided anymore?” he probes.

“No, it wasn’t. We spent every free moment with each other. I’d grade my kits’ schoolwork while he practiced his violin. We’d take walks, read, go for rides, have picnics, study the scripture, and pray together. He basically practiced proper courtship on me, so his family condoned it, even if he didn’t see it as practice like they did. In private, he’d get more rambunctious, and we’d compete in who could wrestle the other down or run the fastest. I helped him with his French and algebra, and he taught me how to ride and the basics of how to use a rapier.”

“You can use a rapier?”

Naomi sniggers. “I’ll have to say no. It's been too many years since I trained with one. Besides, a gun will serve me better, don’t you think?” 

“Point taken.”

“I was fifteen when he started to present. He got more rambunctious and playful. He’d chase me through the high grass of the meadow on their land, wrestle me down, and we’d play pretend-knotting. While we lay there, we’d talk about the future, our hopes and dreams. He knew that I wanted to take care of kits or become a teacher. I’d heard about the squalor of New York and told him I dreamed of teaching the poor how to read.”

“Really?”

“Mhm,” Naomi nods with a grin. “Anyway, we even talked in hushed voices about getting mated when we were both presented. But then, he presented and was sent away to West Point for further education. I told my parents I couldn’t wait to present so we could get mated, and they told me it would never happen. I was mad as a bee at them, but they only spoke the truth. Jesse’s family wouldn’t allow it. I wasn't in the right social class. I’ll spare you the details of my late-Juvie heartbreak. I can summarize it by saying that Jesse’s family sent him to a debutante ball, forcing him to take a suitable mate. I didn’t see much of him. Unlike many of his peers, he was neither lazy nor cowardly, so he studied and headed straight for the front. Unwilling to stick around to get acquainted with his mate, I headed back to New York and got work as a teacher in a small school. Jesse’s family sold the estate and moved to the South. My parents went with them. It was the last time I saw my parents. I’d Presented by then. They came by to visit and to say goodbye. You can count yourself lucky not to be able to meet your father now, because it was _awkward_.”

Dick and Naomi both giggle. “I can imagine.”

“No, you can’t. Believe me, and be thankful. Although it’s interesting. I miss my parents sometimes, but it’s more nostalgic, like missing the way the sun hit the leaves on a particular autumn day you experienced as a kit. It’s not a sorrowful yearning like I feel when our boys are fielded or when I haven’t seen Dandy in a while. I guess we really are wired to wander and leave our parents to fend for themselves.”

“Dandy… she’s the one who took your place in the ambush?”

“She is. We’ve become great friends despite our differences.”

Dick purses his lips and nods. He’d seen Naomi and her together a lot. “Are you still in contact with Jesse?”

“No. I hadn’t seen him for years when he came to see me one last time about a month before the draft. I was grading papers after class when someone came into the room and locked the door. I looked up, and there he was, more handsome than I remembered. I got up, and he rushed to take me in his arms and kiss me. I hope you don’t judge me too harshly for kissing him back. I was convinced he was my truemate, and I missed him so much.”

“I don’t judge you at all, dear.”

“I did, after he left. But we talked. He had an estate of his own now. He wanted me to come home with him, to be his lover. He’d provide for me and pay for a school where I could teach the poor if that was what I wanted. But I could smell his mating bond. I asked him if he loved her. He answered, ‘she’s not you’, but I insisted he answer the question. So he said yes, he did love her.” Naomi sighs. “It was hard. I told him that what I felt for him was pure and beautiful, not something to hide in shame. I refused to be someone’s dirty secret, and I wouldn’t want him to become an unfaithful man to his mate. So either he had to let the mating bond fade and mate me instead, or this would be our last meeting, and I’d close the book on him like a lesson learned and trust the Star to guide me to someone new.” 

Naomi falls quiet and looks at her lap. She fiddles with the duster hanging from her belt, smoothing over the feathers. Dick stays silent, sensing the old ache in her.

Naomi looks up with a sad smile. “He reluctantly agreed. He said he couldn’t leave his mate. He had to honor his family. He said my discipline was one of the things he loved about me, and how he’d become a better person simply by having me in his life, but he’d hoped I would waver this one time.” She frowns. “I think his parents whisked him off to West Point so fast because they knew he’d bed me the day I presented, and we’d get mated on the spot. For all their Truemate preachings, I wasn't wealthy enough for them.”

“That’s very plausible,” Dick agrees. “The only protection against bonds is abstinence. For how long your romance had been brewing, a bond might have formed at first try.”

“I changed my mind a thousand times in the days that followed, and I cried my eyes out. But before he left me, he told me a general draft was coming. He asked me if he was allowed to do one last thing for me. He said he could use his contacts to ensure that I’d end up in a good place, where I’d be respected, protected, and could continue to do what I love. That would be his parting present, his last show of love. He didn’t tell me what he had in mind, and, I’ll admit, I was both skeptical and terrified when I came here. But he proved to be right. My only regret has been coming to terms with the possibility that I might have to see him hanged for treason if we win. Until the ambush, I despaired. But I’ve spent too many sleepless nights staring at the ruined Anna-doll on my dresser. His side tried to assassinate the kits and servants before they went for the fighters. It enrages me like you wouldn’t believe. _My_ kits. I could have been killed. Or worse. Can you imagine if I’d survived, having to be there to tell Marlon I failed to protect his daughter?”

Dick has a strange sense of Deja Vu. It isn’t paired with vertigo or visions, but it feels like it should be. “Do you think Jesse had anything to do with that?”

“No. No, no, no. Jesse is a man of honor. He’s like your Sean, out there on the front lines getting his hands dirty alongside the men he leads, looking the enemy in the eye. It wouldn’t surprise me to learn they’ve faced off many times this war. Assassinating kits is either a desperate last measure or a coward's route. He wouldn’t stand for it. I think he believes I was killed in that ambush. You did a good job of spreading disinformation, after all. But he still made his choice. He chose to let me go, and he chose to fight for the Aristocrats. If we win, he’ll have to face the consequences of that choice. Just like I’ll have to face the consequences of siding with you if they win.”

Dick racks his brain, trying to piece things together. Naomi’s originally from New York, and it seemed like the estate couldn’t have been too far from the city if her mother traveled to the estate every weekend. But the family had moved down south. Jesse went to West Point and is an officer of higher rank if she thinks of Jesse and Sean as equal. “Jesse… that’s a nickname?”

“Yes.”

“Your first love was Colonel Jesiah Huntington the 3rd?” Dick hedges.

“That’s him. But he wasn’t a Colonel last time I saw him.”

“Oh my. We _do_ have similar taste in men,” Dick grins. “I met him when I did a scouting mission for him in Canada. I made an insulting joke on his behalf that he not only understood, but laughed at. I was quite charmed, I admit.”

“Really? What was the joke?”

“He has a well-tended goatee. When he walked past us while we were eating, I held out my bread ration to him and offered my condolences for his misfortune while making a circle gesture around my chin and nose. He burst out laughing, asked me if I was a city boy, and sat down to chat with us for a bit. Though he admitted to having been raised just outside of the city, he called himself a fellow New Yorker. And if you don’t get the joke, I’ll tell you that in the slums, we hold on to our dignity and pride by making sure we’re clean-shaven. A beard is a sign of waning health and bad living conditions. Though he looked quite dashing in his.”

Naomi giggles. “I love beards. Marcel looks very handsome in his.”

Dick grimaces, then sighs in defeat. “He does. Antoine had a beard just like it. Short and perfectly groomed. You couldn’t look at him and not understand he took meticulous care of his hygiene. But cultural bias is hard to shake. I suppose I can claim to hate beards and still admit that some people look good in them.”

“You, Marlon, and Carter are clean-shaven, and you’re still the most handsome men around,” Naomi smiles.

“Well. I can’t argue with that,” Dick says loftily before giggling along with Naomi.

“You promised you’d sing to me,” Naomi reminds him with an excited twinkle in her eyes and playfully gives him an urging shove.

“Okay, okay. I apologize in advance if I sound rusty. Singing is like any skill. You have to practice to keep it honed. But I’ll sing a song Antoine wrote. Here it goes.” Dick closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He envisions being back in his old apartment. The mid-morning sunlight filtering through the window to make dancing dust motes sparkle as it hits the kitchen table. Antoine sits on a chair playing the guitar, purring contentedly, watching him with soft warmth while Dick sings. “ _Once I rose above the noise and confusion. Just to get a glimpse beyond this illusion. I was soaring ever higher. But I flew too high…_ ” Dick sings the whole song, slower and more melancholy than Antoine had sung it, but with no less feeling.

When he opens his eyes, Naomi’s blinking tears from her eyes. “Richard! That was beautiful!”

Dick’s cheeks feel hot. “Thank you, dear. Now, this has been fun. But I should really get some work done before I get locked in another polite staring contest with Carter, watching him break out in a sweat from trying not to have sex with me.”

“Is the compulsion really that strong?” Naomi asks with concern.

“It is. And it goes two ways, but I’m better at handling it. Don’t worry. There are non-sexual ways to confirm a pack bond, should you choose to take one. A certain level of physical intimacy is required, like siphoning or in-depth marking. But you won’t be forced to sleep with either Jed or me unless you want to.”

“Would you extend the same offer to Major Wadsworth?”

“Oh, definitely. I’m not trying to force him to have sex with me. But he makes an escape if I as much as mention a bond, so it’s up to somebody else to explain.”

Naomi stands up. “That’s a relief. Well. I should get going. It’s been. It’s been very nice talking to you. I hope you don’t think less of me now that I’ve told you I have all these thoughts and base yearnings. That I’m not as virtuous on the inside as I present myself.”

Dick laughs. “Dearheart, how could I think less of you for being human? Look at it this way, if virtue is overcoming basic urges, then someone who doesn’t have those urges isn’t very virtuous, to begin with. Now off you go.”

Dick feels good after Naomi’s left. He still tells Jed, Jane, and a few other high ranking members who’re at home about Naomi's connection to the Huntingtons. He’s not making Mar’s mistake to keep quiet, as Mar did about recognizing Carter. But he still trusts Naomi and cherishes their moment. 

Speaking of, he has a rather unsettling encounter with Carter alone in a corridor. 

“Hello, dear,” Dick greets him with a smile and stops, hands clasped behind his back.

Carter comes to a stop two strides away and greets Dick with a pleasant smile and a half-bow. “Good evening, Governor. What an unexpected pleasure to see you out and about,” he says and clasps his hand behind him, mirroring Dick. He’s as handsome as always, wearing his parade uniform with his sword hanging from his belt.

They’ve been in proximity for mere seconds and Dick already feels the pull vibrating under his skin. He can’t imagine science will ever be able to explain the intuitive compulsion to cement pack bonds. Since the pack grew to its current size, sometimes Dick will meet someone far removed from him in rank and still feel it. Jed had said that it’s because if a pack grows very large rank is no longer linear. Dick hadn’t understood, so Jed had compared it to military rank, saying the captains would need to be bonded by the Main, but their companies wouldn’t. Carter, on the other hand, is top shelf. He belongs in the inner circle so Dick’s getting antsy to confirm him anytime they’re close enough to smell each other. “Oh, you know. I’m trying to get the exercise my body will allow. How are you doing? Is your new accommodation to your satisfaction?”

“It is. I’d be lying if I said my new room isn’t vastly more comfortable than my former,” Carter says. He’d been offered a room close to Jed’s that was better for permanent living. 

Dick tilts his head and scrutinizes Carter with a friendly expression. He looks exhausted with dark circles under his eyes, fine worry-lines etched into his forehead, and a sadness in his eyes that didn't use to be there. It hurts. It squeezes Dick's heart and he wants nothing more than to hug Carter and promise to make it right. The pain in his heart is exactly why you can't packbond someone with the intent to abuse, harm, or enslave. The moment they have a bond, their pain is yours. He sends a brief, mental apology to Jane. She must have suffered too when Dick refused to let her confirm his bond. "You know, Major, if there's anything I can do for you… to make your life easier, tell me and I'll do it," Dick says, tiptoeing around the subject.

“Thank you, Dick, but there’s nothing I want you to do for me,” Carter answers wearing the same amicable smile as Dick.

Dick tries again. If he mentions the bond directly, Carter will slink away like always, making some thin excuse. But Dick can smell him. He smells the growing depression, the perpetual anxiety, and the mounting tendril of arousal caused by being near Dick. “Hmm. Sometimes,” Dick pauses to search for words, “sometimes problems that seem to have only one, unpleasant solution, can in fact have several, less obvious but equally effective solutions. So if you have any problem, anything that’s causing you discomfort, don’t hesitate to come to me for help. You’ll find me exceptionally willing to help you, and to work out a solution tailored specifically to your ideals and morals. You might not see it, and therefore think it can’t be done. But trust me, dear, some actions would not have been taken if there hadn’t been suitable work-arounds.”

Carter huffs in amusement. He looks over his shoulder, back at Dick, behind Dick, then back at Dick again. His hands drop from behind his back. One comes to rest on the hilt of his sword. Dick’s starting to feel uncomfortable, unsure why.

The world tilts on its axis.

Marlon and Carter are on a divan draped in satin in a luxurious sitting room Dick doesn’t recognize. The open fire burns merrily. There are two armchairs opposite the divan and Carter's parade uniform is neatly folded on the floor beside one of them. There’s a mostly empty bottle of alcohol on the floor by the divan, and a camera that undoubtedly is Marlon’s and also somewhat explains Carter’s unorthodox clothing. At least, it explains _why_ he’s dressed the way he is, _not_ how he came to agree to it.

Carter’s naked, only wearing an intricately decorated leather belt with two colorful, embroidered silk shawls attached to it like chaps. He’s also wearing exquisite jewelry with gold and gems - necklace, armlets, bracelets, ankle cuffs, decorated thin chains around his midriff. The biggest tell that Marlon’s responsible for Carter’s current look is that Carter’s wearing mascara and a line of kohl under his eyes. Dick finds him breathtaking. He’d pay good money to get his hands on the photos that no doubt preluded Mar and Carter’s current activity.

Dick wants to get closer, but he can’t. It’s like he’s locked in position by an invisible force.

Carter’s straddling Marlon. They’re making out, hands roaming, mouths exploring. None of them are sober. Dick’s got the distinct feeling he knows what’s about to happen now but can’t access the memory.

Carter kisses his way along Marlon's jaw until he reaches the mouth. They kiss, unrushedly tasting each other's tongues. Carter unbuttons Marlon's coat and shirt, parts them to get his hands inside, fingers rubbing over Marlon’s nipples. His mouth trails back to lick at the gland, siphon, and back again to kiss. “I usually don’t like kissing all that much. Now, it’s like I can’t stop,” he murmurs, smiling against Marlon’s lips. A slight frown creases Marlon’s brows. He opens his eyes and looks troubled. He bares his fangs and growls a low-level challenge. Carter pulls away far enough to look him in the eyes, eyelids heavy and eyes drowsy and puzzled. “Mrrt? Are you dissociating right now?” 

Marlon hiccups a small laugh and grinning shakes his head. “Not even a little.” 

“If you said yes I’d be confused. I’ve never been so sure if someone wants me or not as I am now.” 

Marlon smirks. “I should say. Since you’re shooting my arousal straight into your bloodstream.” He kisses Carter until Carter’s back under the spell, then he growls the same amicable threat, squeezing Carter’s buttocks at the same time.

This time he gets another reaction. Carter tips to the side, twisting to present his ass over Marlon’s lap. He looks over his shoulder, lax and siphon high. “You’ve got lube?” ha asks. Dick realizes what’s going on. Bonding-sex. That’s why Mar growled, testing if his rank would be challenged. But Carter doesn’t seem to understand that.

“Don’t need it.” Marlon milks his own ear gland to coat his fingers with secretion, then uses the lubricated fingers to tease Carter’s hole. Carter whines and purrs encouragingly. Marlon milks his gland again and this time his finger breaches Carter’s ass. Dick can see Marlon’s expression is one of conflicting emotions. His arousal and enchantment by the beautiful Alpha over his lap is clear as day, but he’s also troubled by something. Then he asks, “How would you like to join us? Become Carter Williams? Or Carter Wadsworth of the Williams pack, by all means.”

“No… I mean this as no offense, but Packrunning isn’t for me. I have no trouble accepting your culture, but adopting it is another matter,” Carter mumbles drowsily. 

Marlon looks disappointed. “Why did you give yourself to me to be owned?” he asks and milks his gland some more and this time inserts two fingers. 

Dick perks up in interest. What does that mean? Owned? He suddenly wishes he’d been here to hear all the conversation that had led up to this moment.

"To gain your trust. Even saving your life didn't do the trick. You just repaid the favor. Shit, right there." Carter keens a purr when Marlon's fingers find the sweet spot. 

"Mhh," Marlon hums and caresses Carter's back with his free hand. "I do trust you, to an extent. I've been very open to you about my issues and the help you've given me does a lot to keep me together. I no longer think you will shoot me in the back. But you are a professional companion, and a good one to boot." Marlon grips Carter's neck in a mimicry of a bite. "And you must understand that I can never trust you as long as you are in continuous contact with Coombs," he states with certainty. 

Dick reels. This is something Marlon _knows?_ His nose is instantly assaulted by sour fear from Carter. 

"What? You didn't think I knew?" Marlon says, making Dick angry. If he knew he definitely should have said so. "Of course, I know,” Mar continues. “Here’s the thing, though. Sean won two medals from the Union while undercover. When I was undercover only my handler and Aiden knew. That means you could be playing one of three sides and nobody can corroborate your story.” 

“Three sides?” Carter asks tensely. 

“Coombs’, ours, or your own.” 

“Have you told Aiden?” 

“No. You’re still living and breathing, aren’t you? Believe me, Coombs is a touchy subject for him.” 

“What are you going to do to me?” Carter asks. He hasn’t moved. Mar’s hand inside of his ass has stilled, but he’s still caressing Carter soothingly over the back. 

“I told you, right now you’re safer than you’ve ever been in your life. I take care of those who belong to me.” 

“And after?” Carter asks.

“Same as before. I’ll be keeping an eye on you until I’ve figured out whose side you’re really playing for. Frankly, I’m surprised nobody else had figured it out. You’ve been dropping tells all over the place.” 

“Have not,” Carter says petulantly. 

It startles a genuine laugh out of Marlon. He manhandles Carter to get out from underneath him and then lays down on his side beside Carter so he can look at his face. Carter's tense. He smells distressed and anxious but no longer terrified. Marlon purrs a calming all-is-well, caresses his back with one hand and supports his own head with his other. "It's small things. How you never correct me when I talk about Coombs and ask questions about your relation in present tense. How you know just a little bit more of what the other side is doing, than you rightfully should if you were cut off from inside sources. And then there’s that detail of how any raid or attack you lead, always takes a bit fewer losses and is always successful. And remember, in Selma? You gave an on surface-level strange order to search those sheds where we found the three captive writers. I didn’t remark on the strangeness but there was no reason to search those sheds unless you already knew you’d find something there. Hence, you have an informant you're not telling us about. Also, your pervasive insistence that your life is over after the war.” 

Carter turns his head to face Marlon, eyes fearful. "How is that a giveaway?" 

"Because it's only true if we lose. You know you'll be richly rewarded if you wish when we win. But if you're working for the other side you won't believe we'll win. If you work for the government you'll also be awarded. But you're not. You're working for Coombs. As you've pointed out, he's a spider manipulating threads rather than a powerhouse unto himself. So he might be able to convince them you were working for him, but they'll still see him as a cripple, equal body to mind. So if they'd let you live you would still be regarded with suspicion, a pariah. You'd be forced to a life as Coombs' companion or a life as a simple man." Marlon pets Carter's hair. "Life as Coombs' companion isn't a bad life. You'd have all the comforts of your social class, intelligent company, books to read, regular sex. And I'm sure Coombs would enjoy watching you poke in the garden." 

"He does," Carter concedes. 

"The best thing is, even if you don't win, if you just keep your head down and avoid detection, you'd be safe. Too bad you didn't manage to fly under the radar, huh?" 

"What are you going to do to me?" Carter asks again. 

"Nothing, unless I catch you betraying us. Thus far I haven't. I have my suspicions about a few incidents, and a few arrests that have been made, but they're inconsequential enough to ignore if your actions are mostly in favour of our cause. I hate that I don't know if anything you've told me about yourself is true, though. Care to tell me who you are? Carter the man, not Carter the actor?” 

Carter snorts in humourless amusement and inches closer, entwining their legs. “I used to think you were an eerily good liar until I figured out what your trick was and started emulating it,” he says. “Anytime I told you an outright lie you’d be even more suspicious and hostile than usual, as if you could smell it. I know you couldn’t, but you still noticed when I lied. So I stopped. Just like you, I lied by omission. Most things I’ve told you about myself are true. I just skipped out on other parts. Like when I was sent to war. I was terrified. But I was also angry and bitter. Coombs got in touch pretty soon after. He was heartbroken about you and begged my forgiveness, telling me he’d done wrong to throw me out. I felt both vindictive and bitter about it. But at the same time it felt good to have someone tell me they’d done me wrong. That’s more than my parents have ever done. And Coombs has contacts. He could pull strings to get me off the battlefield. Not right then, because we were deep in the heart of enemy territory, but if I could get myself moved to the forests closer to the US border, he could bring me home. So I played at being understanding and forgiving. We started exchanging letters and we would call each other when it was possible.” Carter pauses and closes his eyes. Marlon leans his head to purr his all-is-well straight unto the skin of his shoulder and caress his back. Carter goes on. “At the same time I saw heated combat daily. Every day was a challenge just to stay alive. I was lucky one day. My actions saved the lives of three soldiers under my command and when we got to safety one of them asked what pack I ran in.” 

Marlon whistles, impressed. “You must have shown some significant valor. We know who the West Point boys are so your actions must have made him think he’d gotten the wrong information about you.” 

Carter sniggers. “Yes. When I told him I was a Conservative he looked at me dubiously and asked me if I was sure.” Marlon and Carter share a grin. “I mentioned this when I was in the officer’s mass, eating. One of my peers called it an insult, but the Packrunning officers reacted like you, telling me he’d been complimenting me. Not many days later General Hartley was in camp and she called me to her tent just to tell me she’d heard good things about me and bid me to keep up the good work because she’d be keeping her eyes on me for a possible promotion. The rest I told you was true. I kept your warning in mind and cared for my men like I said. Their respect and admiration for my actions got to me and I felt very protective of that." 

"The letters from your parents. Were they real?" Marlon asks. Dick could bite him, he’s so mad. It must have been very significant letters, but Marlon hasn’t said a peep about them to Dick.

"Oh yes. They've never failed to make me feel inadequate." 

"Coombs' letters?" 

"Burned." 

"Does he ever talk about me?” Marlon asks then, as if he couldn’t make Dick angrier. Mar’s still pining. After all this time and all that’s happened, Mar’s still pining for Coombs. No wonder he hasn’t told Dick.

Carter utters a short, pained laugh. “Is that why you’ve let me live? Why you haven’t taken action to see me in the gallows?” Marlon doesn’t answer. “You’re very alike, in a way,” Carter says. “Aside from your physique being top shape and him being a cripple. You’re both unscrupulous and think any sacrifice is worth it if you’re successful in reaching your goal. But there’s a major difference. He’s lonely. Coombs is a very lonely man and you’re not. You’ve got people who care, sometimes even more than they care for their own happiness. He doesn’t. So, yes, he talks about you. A while back when I was already staying with you he got the idea that maybe you could be swayed to join us. He ordered me to kill your mate to cut that bond. Now, since I want to live a long life in good health, I haven’t had an opportunity to do so. If he’d said to kill you, I’d have had loads of opportunities, but Chuck’s safe. A great part of that is because the times I could have done it, you would instantly have pointed a finger at me. And that loathsome sister of his guards him like a snake. It didn't get better by Leoh dying. Assassinating a Main isn't a walk in the park." 

Dick reels. _CHUCK?!_ His confusion is so great his mind nearly glosses over Carter’s confession of being ordered to kill the Williams Main. He’s hit with vertigo and suddenly he’s standing in a familiar corridor in the Williams estate again, face to face with Carter who’s no longer smiling pleasantly. Carter’s eyes are hard, determined. He’s squeezing the hilt of the sword by his side. Dick can smell his anxiety, the nervous sweat in his palm mingling with the leather grip, his armpits, the neck. He sees the sweat starting to glisten on Carter’s forehead and throat, cheeks tinting red, breath coming more rapidly.

The moment drags. Dick sees how Carter’s hand tightens around the sword and starts pulling it up half an inch. Carter. Who was ordered to kill the Main but hasn’t because he wants to live and keep his options open. Who’s now a cornered animal ensnared by an unwanted packbond, desperately trying to get a grip on his life again.

Dick grows cold and hides his scent, putting a hand protectively over his belly, suddenly terrified. In his current state he stands no chance to run or fight - he’s too clumsy and too exhausted. His own smile, an ever-present polite shield, falters. The sword comes up another half an inch and Carter takes a small step towards him. Dick locks gaze with him, mentally begging, ‘ _Please don’t. Let my kitling live._ ’

A moment that likely doesn’t last longer than a few seconds feels like it stretches out into eternity.

But then Carter’s eyes suddenly widen with terror. He lets go of the hilt and takes two strides up to Dick to cup his cheeks, scent souring with fear. “Are you alright? Where’s your bodyguard?” He turns his head and yells for Aleksandr, who comes running, then scolds the Siberian for not being there at all times before fleeing at a brisk walk, all while Dick sags against the wall in relief.

“What happened?” Aleksandr asks Dick when Carter’s gone.

Dick takes a deep breath to collect himself and straightens up. “He’s an agent, and for a moment, he considered assassinating me,” he answers without a shred of doubt, not questioning his strange vision. “But then he realized it’d mean the death of his Main, so his protective instinct flared to life. If he’s trying to run, I want him caught and brought back.”

“If not?”

“Then just leave him be. Sooner or later, he’ll capitulate,” Dick says. If the compulsion is working that strong on him already, Lucifer is safe, and Dick will simply have to wait him out.

Aleksandr leaves but shortly after returns with the news that Carter just fled to his room to cry.

Dick’s mind is primarily on Antoine, though. He reminisces about their time together and mourns him. As he climbs into bed to sleep, he thinks it’s a shame Mila went mad and took money from the Conservatives. He pushes the button to elevate the bed. It makes no sense. If she hadn’t gone crazy, Antoine would have had more time and might still be alive. She seemed perfectly sane while she was planning out their tactics. He can’t understand why she, who’d lived so long, would suddenly― 

It hits him.

As soon as the bed is at the top, he pushes the button to go down again. He rushes over to Marcel’s room and barges in without knocking, startling Marcel into dropping fangs and flaring and nearly spilling the glass of wine on his desk. “Mila took the Conservative blood money because of you!”

“What? That’s nonsense. I was against it from the start,” Marcel argues.

“No, no. Hear me out. You said she didn’t listen to you, but she did. You told her us wolfcat descendants are so prosperous because we’ll fuck anything. We’ll procreate with any vaguely human race. And we do it faster than Siberians, so mixed-blood gets watered down fast by her standards. You told her that, right?”

“Yes?”

“Except, Conservatives don’t. They pick one partner, and they’ll discriminate against every good shifter, or even people speaking Primal. They get pregnant too young, so many Os die at kitbirth, effectively trading one wolfcat descendant for another one, more helpless than the one before, instead of growing their numbers. You said Siberians have gotten hard to find. Her plans for breeding a superior race were made increasingly difficult. But she could level the playing field. Progs were already hated here, confined to gated communities. If she got rid of Packrunners and Primals too, she’d have weakened us severely and we’d no longer have that edge you were talking about. By forging an alliance with the Conservatives, she could’ve ended up with the only sanctioned pack left in America if she handled her cards right. Just like you and Antoine, she was playing a long game.”

Marcel had been scowling at him, but now he suddenly looks like he’s been stabbed. It’s come and gone in a second before his face smooths into impassiveness. “It’s my fault. Tony’s death, it’s my fault,” he states flatly.

Dick rolls his eyes and goes to sit on his lap. “No, dear. Antoine’s death is Mila’s fault. Don’t you pull an Aiden on me. We’re all responsible for our actions, and this was hers. And let’s face it. If you had left my Patriarch alone, I wouldn’t have lived in your rafters long enough to give a detailed account of your plans to the Swifts. The attack would have succeeded, and everyone else would have had to accept the outcome when the dust settled. But she never lets anyone go. So it’s all her decision making. She was never mad, just vindictive.”

“She was always mad. You can’t be a fanatic and not be. Believe me, for a great chunk of my life, I danced to her pipe,” Marcel says, putting his arms around Dick to keep him in place.

“Can you play the guitar?”

Marcel barks a startled laugh, scent shifting to amusement and muscles relaxing. “That was random.”

“Sorry, dear. My mind’s been stuck on Antoine today.”

“Ah. I see. Yes. I taught him how to play. But the student soon outshone the master. I'm more of a 'plunk for inspiration' kind of guy, while he practiced until his fingers bled. His secret dream was to become a professional musician and entertainer."

"I'd like to think that in another life, he would have. Maybe I would buy his record and play it over and over. Maybe I would've saved up money just to buy a signed photo of him," Dick muses. He wishes he had a photo of Antoine. Maybe he could get one or two from Mar? He remembers Mar and Aid bringing their camera along sometimes.

"The chances of you two meeting, under those circumstances, are next to nothing."

"True. But if he’d be alive and happy, it would be worth it.”

“If you didn’t know him, you wouldn’t think so.”

Dick chuckles and raises his eyebrow in question.

“What I’m saying is, even I, who develop true affection slowly and resentfully, know that there are thousands of people out there on every side of this conflict, that I would love and care for deeply if I got to know them. People that I, today, will order killed with a stroke of a pen, and walk away with no regrets,” Marcel clarifies patiently.

“You’re awfully deep tonight,” Dick remarks.

Marcel sighs and leans back to look at the ceiling. “Sometimes I let that comfort me. I tell myself that if Tony got to live, others wouldn’t. If we’d let you seek asylum with the Williamses, the Swifts would be dead, you wouldn’t have mistrusted Jane, so the kits would be dead. Without you in power, we wouldn’t have pack laws, we wouldn’t be uniting designations under the yellow banner, we wouldn’t be able to shift openly. If the Romans had been allowed to exist, we’d be struggling even more in this war. I tell myself that even the most tragic personal loss has widespread consequences that are way beyond a mere mortal’s comprehension. Tony’s sacrifice might very well have been the thing that ultimately leads to us winning the war, and we’ll never know. Maybe when the dust settles, we’ll be able to look at all the facts and trace events back in time to see what impact he had.” He sighs again. “I always saw something in him—a hero in the making. I was convinced he was born to be something bigger than a regular man. And maybe he was. Maybe the gods let him die at that exact moment in order to save us all, but we’ll never know.” He grimaces in disgust. “I don’t care. If I could, I’d drown the world in blood to get my mate and son back, no matter who or how many I had to kill.”

Dick hums thoughtfully. “It’s hard to consider these things. If I could go back in time… I’d have to do so, knowing I’d lose what I’ve got today.”

Marcel nods. “I’m sure that choice is harder for you than for me. But we can’t go back in time. It’s probably for the better.” He suddenly huffs a breathy laugh. “I guess we can be thankful we’re not like Phillip. Can you imagine experiencing your life out of order, knowing what you were about to win or lose but confused about where you currently were on your timeline? If you’d try to warn people, they’d think you mad. No wonder he was lonely.”

Dick’s heart squeezes. Phillip might not have been alone a moment of his life, surrounded by ancestors as he was. But he’d said it was hard to make friends because of _their_ chatter. He didn’t get to choose his friends and build relationships the way ordinary people do. Except for Jay. And Phillip seemed so sure Dick would make a decision that would mean Jay didn’t die with a pack bond. And he’d made that comment about meeting Jack, something he’d looked forward to, that won’t happen now. 

It gives Dick a headache. He’s trying so hard to make everyone happy. It’s hard enough as it is without considering how his decisions affect people he hasn't met or who won’t be born until decades from now. Jack was a newborn, wasn’t he? He probably shouldn’t dwell on that comment. Phillip said he’d never met a newborn, but Sean told him Phillip had at least one kit that he’d raised alone with the mother while defending a territory in a pack war against a bigger, superior pack. He’d won, and that’s an incredible feat to have accomplished on his own. Except, even on his own, he hadn’t been alone. He’d had the eyes and ears of his ancestors. He’d been able to set up traps before the other pack had even finished planning out their strategy. If he’d been put in a General’s position in the current war, it might already be over with them as the victors. He― 

Marcel puts his hand over Dick’s belly, breaking him out of his reverie. “Are you alright?” he asks with a concerned frown.

“I’m fine, dear. I was merely considering how you’d experience life as a veilwalker.”

“A minor god’s level of insight, shunned, and mocked as a fool by fellow mortals? Better not think of it too hard. But he wasn’t unhappy, darling. Trust my keen nose on this.”

When Dick gets back to his own room, his bed is no longer empty. Frederick’s spooning Mal, snoring loudly while Mal dozes. Jed’s in bed, reading by his flare. He looks up and smiles when Dick enters.

“I thought you were spending the night with Karen,” Dick says, trying not to sound bitter.

Jed snorts. “Why would I, when my mate’s right here?”

Dick compresses his lips to a fine line, biting his teeth around words of jealousy. Jed puts the book away and reaches for him. Dick goes to him. He climbs the railing in an ungainly fashion and flops down beside Jed, instantly pulled into his lovely embrace. Dick relaxes. Karen can’t have Jed back.

“I’ve told you before, sweetkit, her betrayal runs too deep for me to ever rekindle our romance. I’d have to let go of pride and dignity to overcome the rift she caused. But I’m hoping I can stow my bitterness enough to call her a friend again,” Jed tells him, lips brushing Dick’s forehead as he speaks.

“I suppose I can live with that,” Dick mutters. “But if she tries to reclaim her power over the pack…”

“She won’t. Trust me. If she as much as growled the hint of a challenge at this stage, the pack would kill her. Aiden would kill her for being a threat to his son. Remorselessly. Plus, her main goal is to unite the country. You’re vital for that unity, and she knows that.”

Dick grumbles and hides his face against Jed’s chest.

Jed chuckles and hugs him closer. “I know. I know, love. You’ll have to trust me on this. Now, we know the boys want to be together, so we should let them,” he says, then he pulls Dick, rolling him over his body so Dick ends up on his side on the mattress beside Mal. Mal opens her eyes sleepily and gives him a soft smile. She shuffles a little closer until their bellies are pressed together. Jed puts his hand around Dick’s belly just below where it’s pressed against Mal. It doesn’t take long for Michael and Lucifer to start to move. Mal giggles, and Dick feels Jed grin against his shoulder. “I love it when they do that,” Jed whispers.

“Me too,” Mal agrees quietly.

Dick too. Mal often sleeps in his nest just because their kitlings get so active when they can feel each other. 

Jed twists around to hit the elevator button to bring them up, then settles against Dick’s back. Dick thinks he’ll have trouble sleeping tonight, but Jed’s first vibrations of all-is-well are all he hears before he fades into dreamland…

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, next chapter's going to be the dream. It's a bit trippy but it got too long to keep in this chapter. Then things are going to settle on the less supernatural side again once Dick's health is restored.
> 
> Thank you all for reading. I appreciate you soo much!


	37. Dreaming...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick dreams, and his realities blend together in frightening ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here I was, sitting wondering why nobody had commented yet. It's been two days, after all! Then it turns out I simply had forgotten to post. X'D You can't comment on what hasn't been published, huh?
> 
> Alright. This chapter is trippy. I _know_ that. It'll also give you a sliver of a glimpse into what life's like for Phillip. Not quite, partly because he's been how he is since birth and doesn't know "normal", hence he'll never experience it the same way as Dick. Partly because he's got full awareness at all times and can, to a degree, navigate. But when he says chronology is hard, this is definitely what he means. 
> 
> I'm not throwing in any new alternative universes. It's either Dick's original one or this one.
> 
> A huge thanks to Lisa and Melina who keep using precious time to help me. I can't put words to how grateful I am to have them as Betas. <3

* * *

They’re at the Zoo, since Dean’s never been to a real Zoo before. It’s nice. It’s rare that they all get to do something together. Sadly, Sam had to beg off to study for an upcoming exam. Instead, Aleksandr has joined them on Dean’s invite. Marlon keeps casting furtive glances his way, gaze flitting away like a skittish horse anytime the Siberian looks his way. Dick withholds the urge to roll his eyes when he sees Marlon clench his jaw for the umpteenth time after being caught looking by Aleksandr. It’s hard to believe Mar’s still acting this way after all these years.

The boys are gathered in a circle over a map. Gabe wants to go to the plaza in the middle of the zoo where they sell cotton candy. Luci wants them to start at the aquarium. Dean wants to see everything and Raphael’s content doing whatever the others decide, just like Dick.

“Oh, come on! It’s this way! Come on, come on, come on. Stop diddle-daddling,” Phillip urges, bouncing on his feet impatiently a few yards away, gesturing wildly for them to follow. Dick’s attention is drawn to him, zoning out the group’s discussion for a while as Luci suggests they should split up. Dick’s lips twitch in amusement as he watches the young Phillip vibrate with excitement, impatience in every fiber of his lithe and wiry body, short brown hair catching a breeze. Dick considers going to him because there’s certainly no breeze over here to help combat the heatwave.

“No. We stay together. That’s the point of this whole excursion,” Marlon says sternly, leveling Luci with a ‘Look’.

“But, _faaather_ ,” Luci complains, body sagging like a sulky Juvie. “If we’re going to look at all the animals we won’t have time for the Aquarium.”

“You heard him,” Dick says to Phillip with a little smirk. “We stay together.”

Phillip blinks in surprise, eyebrows creasing in concern. He scrutinizes Dick for a beat, then shakes his head and turns around to stare longingly in the direction he'd pointed earlier.

“Dude. I want to visit the aquarium too, but I don’t wanna rush to see everything. If we run out of time, you and I’ll go there another day this week, alright?” Dean says.

“Alright,” Luci answers with a sullen look and a pleased scent. 

“Then it’s settled. We go this way,” Dean says and sets off in the opposite direction of where Phillip’s looking, the others joining him, except…

“ _Stay togeeether_ ,” Dick singsongs teasingly at Phillip when Phillip makes a move to go off on his own. It stops Phillip in his stride, making him turn back to frown at Dick.

“I wasn’t going to wander off,” Mike says from Dick’s other side, startling him. “I just think we should’ve started with the Bird House. It’s right there.”

Phillip comes to join them as Dick and Mike start following the others. Phillip eyes him oddly and pushes his glasses further up his nose. 

“And now we’ll look at the birds last,” Dick states.

“Hah. No, we won’t. Oh, no. Mark my words, we won’t,” Phillip declares decisively and clucks a laugh that sounds oddly old coming from such a young man. 

Dick chuckles and shakes his head. Phillip’s the youngest in the bunch, counting Presented age, but he’s always so cocksure. Mike doesn’t bother to answer the statement, though.

* * *

There’s something awfully wrong. Dick doesn’t mention it. He doesn’t want to ruin their outing for Dean, experiencing the Zoo for the first time. But it’s there like an ominous tone playing in the background. It’s the little things. The first thing Dick realized was wrong, was the lack of a mating bond shared with Marlon. He gets whiffs of the emotions of the others, and he knows every single one of them are mated, but he can’t smell to _whom_ they’re mated. But Mar’s single mating bond isn’t with him. When he tries to think of why, he can’t remember. He can’t remember what they did this morning, try as he might. His last years are fuzzy. Maybe he’s had a stroke? To tamp down on how much that scares him, he tries to think of a logical reason for them not to be mated. Maybe they’ve been separated for so long their bond faded?

No, that doesn’t make sense. Mar would’ve mauled him with his desperate affection and need to rekindle the bond if that was the case.

So they’ve had a fight. No. They must have had a series of fights that they somehow didn’t manage to work through. Donarrion knows they’ve been at each other’s throats many times before. But it usually ends with them dangling their legs over the roof’s edge, watching the stars, sharing a couple of cigarettes in the stillness of the night, talking it out.

Dick wonders how wrong things must have gone for them not to bridge that gap?

But… that doesn’t seem to add up either. There’s no cold tension between them. On the contrary, Mar’s flirting with him, casting him warm gazes and courting him like the most dignified aristocrat would. With meaningful looks, brief touches, and discreet double-entendres. Dick doesn’t understand.

He gives in to the mounting panic and pulls Marlon to the side. “Why aren’t we mated?” he asks softly, standing face to face with Mar, holding his hands.

Mar sucks in a small, surprised breath, then lifts his hand to cup Dick’s cheek gently. “Are you sure you’re ready for that, darling? I don’t want to rush you,” he answers with the tiniest smile. The scent of his excitement gives away how he really feels.

“You’re not part of me, so I’m not whole,” Dick answers candidly.

Marlon’s smile grows. He leans in to place a sweet kiss on Dick’s lips then leans their foreheads together. “I bought us rings a few months back. I’d planned to present them to you and ask for your mateship when you signaled you were ready. I’m afraid I don’t have them on me.”

“That’s a Progressive custom,” Dick states uncertainly.

“I know it’s not necessary for us, but you know how much I like rituals. I didn’t think you’d mind, all things considered.”

“I don’t. It’s a beautiful notion.” Dick looks at the rest of the group when Dean lets out a loud ‘ _Whoa!_ ’. They’ve found the giraffe enclosure, and the boys are grinning at Dean’s awe. Luci, Mike, Raff, and Gabe are all so old. All grown up and ready to start their own families. It’s decades since Dick had a life growing inside of him. He misses being a new dad. Nevermind that Lucifer nearly killed him. He’d been too young. His second pregnancy hadn’t even rendered him bedridden after giving birth. A few hours of resting with his kitling and he was up and about. He looks back at Mar. “I’m also thinking, how do you feel about becoming a father again?”

Mar’s stunned for several seconds. Then his eyes start shining with avarice, fangs dropping while he speaks. “I thought you’d chosen a certain red-eyed Alpha to father your kit,” he says carefully, trying to show restraint. It’s funny. Sean and Mar both have a ‘thing’ for impregnating an O. The difference is that Sean will stud for anyone whether he’ll ever see them again or not, but if Mar knocked you up, you and your kit were _his_ and he’d never let an O get custody of his kit if she wanted to leave the pack. In a way, it’s a lucky thing that Mar had zero interest in sex with people that didn’t awaken deeper feelings in him. Dick shudders to think about what would happen if Mar had the same sex drive as Aid or Sean.

“I’m asking you,” Dick says. There’s no need to mention that he’s already asked Aid when he decided to have his second kit. Aiden had proceeded to have a panic attack and said he’d do it if Dick ordered him to. Dick hadn’t. He doesn’t get what the big deal is? All of Mar’s kits already call him dad and he’s done a great job acting as a father, yet the thought of having another kit of his own undid him. Marcel said it’s natural selection at work. ‘You let someone like Aiden breed, you take a perfectly good kit and give it anxiety,’ he’d said. Dick would’ve punched him if Luci hadn’t decided to have one of his regular self-worth meltdowns right then because he didn’t understand his math homework as well as Mike.

Marlon wraps his arms around Dick’s midriff and pulls him closer. “Your Heat’s coming up in a few days. How about you and I take a vacation to Hawaii just the two of us. I’ll lay off the suppressants so my Rut will hit at the same time. We’ll get mated and try for a kit at the same time,” he suggests, voice low and husky.

Dick smirks. “Why, Marlon dearest, it sounds like you want to remove me from all competition to prevent me from changing my mind.”

“I would never,” Mar purrs with a hitch to his upper lip that screams ‘guilty’. “I merely thought it would be nice to rewrite our memories of Hawaii.” 

Dick can’t remember ever having been to Hawaii. Definitely a stroke then. Which would explain why Dean’s their Main.

“Yo, Politico crew!” Dean comes bounding their way as if summoned.

“He says, as if he isn’t the greatest political disaster since Coombs,” Mar mutters conspiratorially and steps away from Dick to face Dean with a smile.

“Have you seen the giraffe? It’s huge. ‘S gotta be at least 20 feet tall. I knew they were big an’ all, but I was _not_ prepared,” Dean says with a grin that doesn’t line up with the scent of budding anger. “And look at its enclosure. That’s a decent-sized apartment. Hell, it’s as big as your study, Papa. I’d be thrilled living in a space that big.”

Dick can see where this is going and it’s hitting on another of the things that are off.

“Thing is, I’m not 20 feet tall,” Dean says, dropping his grin. “Like, dude’s got his ceiling two feet above him. Ain’t fucking natural. I’m gonna bet that’s not how they usually live. Ain’t no concrete squares on the plains of Africa, I know that much. Are they solitary creatures? If not, why is he alone? I’m telling you, if one of our neighbors back in Kansas had kept his cows or horses like that, they’d have, let’s call it an accident. We didn’t fucking tolerate that kind of bullshit on our territory,” he says coldly. “And that chimp baby I got to take pictures with? I asked the guy what will happen to it once it grows too old to hug visitors. He gave some sketchy answer, right? But Sash told me they kill it―”

“We’re not adopting a chimpanzee,” Mar states warningly.

“Yeah, I know. Sash said that already. He said they’ll just go catch another one in the wild and that they usually kill the mother while they’re at it,” Dean agrees.

Dick remembers Aleksandr telling him not to burn the stuffed Wolfcat for roughly the same reason. He’s deeply troubled. The last time he was at the zoo the enclosures were large, lush, and green, with hiding spots and activities for the animals. He’d outlawed these small, concrete cages with only straw for bedding after the war, decades ago. How could it have come to this point again?

“So, real talk,” Dean says. “This ain’t okay.” He makes a sweeping gesture at the cages behind him. “Starting tomorrow, y’all proclaim a new animal protection law that takes effect immediately in our territory. I’m expecting you to make sure the law takes effect in the whole country within a month.”

“It doesn’t work like that, darling,” Mar says with a bemused smirk.

“Hey. If you can’t make it happen, I’ll call grandma and ask her to fix it,” Dean says and turns to walk back to the others.

Mar sputters, reaching for Dean, abandoning Dick to follow Dean. “There’s no need to drag Karen into this. Be reasonable,” Mar argues. “Give me at least a year. Just wording the new law so it won’t come with loopholes will take at the very minimum a week. You know how important wording is. Plus, if we don’t set the law up properly, there will be nothing stopping zoo owners from simply slaughtering the animals and what you’ll have done is simply signed a death warrant for every captive exotic animal. Is that what you want?”

Dick’s pretty certain Dean knows all of that and he’s just learned how to make sure he gets prompt actions out of Mar. It worked when Jay made Mar think his writing wasn’t good enough, and it’s still working to this day. Mar runs on his own schedule, putting things in the order he sees fit. But question his competence and threaten to let someone else take over, and, _BAM_ , you’d gotten your task catapulted to the top of his list. Dick would smile, except they’re talking about laws that were instated decades ago, and Dick can’t remember them being removed.

Mar comes back with an annoyed expression. “We’ve got 3 to 5 months to instate Chibale’s Law nationwide. This won’t infringe on our trip to Hawaii,” he says with a dissatisfied twist to his mouth.

“Chibale?”

“The name of the giraffe. The sign says it means kinship so Dean thought it would be fitting,” Mar tells him.

Dick hums his agreement.

The strangeness doesn’t stop.

A while later Luci passes by behind Dick and gooses him in one butt cheek, cupping his hand around the other in a caress as he passes, then gives Dick a flirty smirk with teethed canines. Dick’s shocked cold. 

That's sexual behavior.

His son's making a pass at him.

Apparently, Dick's expression says it all because Luci frowns and licks his lips, holding his hands up in surrender. "Okay, okay. You're not feeling it. Sorry."

Behind Luci, Aleksandr drapes his arm over Mike's shoulder and places a tender kiss on his temple. Dean purrs a loud all-is-well at the sight and Mar sends Aleksandr a dark look.

Dick's reeling. Something strange is going on here. He's not following. It's unsettling. "I need to speak to Marcel," he says out loud to himself.

Luci's frown turns annoyed. "No. We said no work today. Stop fretting. Crowley and I will go back to Louisiana and we'll not only get the professor off the hook, but make sure he gets a large compensation as well as create a precedent for similar cases. It’ll be a great win for Packrunners nationwide. Just relax. I don't get why you're so obsessed with him anyway. He's an arrogant asshole."

Strange is getting stranger. For a moment Dick’s more lost than ever. What’s Marcel doing in Louisiana? Why is he in trouble with the law?

Phillip is watching Dick intently with narrowed eyes. “You hear me?” he asks.

“I hear you,” Dick answers with a troubled frown.

“Good. Then no more bringing up Marcel today, okay?” Lucifer says and pats Dick on the shoulder, then turns away and walks off towards Gabe and Raphael.

Phillip’s expression smooths out and he pushes his glasses up his nose. “I see how it is. Listen, kit, just roll with it. It’ll make sense later or it won’t matter. Play along. Trust me on this. They’ll all agree, yes they will.”

Dick swallows dryly but nods. He’ll try. For now. But it’s eerie, and he has a small ball of ice in the pit of his belly. Like so many times before when he’s been scared, unsure, or uncomfortable, he plasters on a smile and goes to talk to the others.

Phillip goes nuts when they stop to buy snacks. "Oh, come on! You're not going to eat any of that anyway. Let's go this way and get a head start. Don't dawdle!" he says, jumping up and down, gesturing wildly.

Dick sniggers at his impatience but the others ignore Phillip entirely. It's rude. Come to think of it, they've ignored Phillip all day. That's troubling. Phillip is an oddball but Dick didn't expect Mar to ignore him. Dick's standing with the others who are all talking over each other. He turns his head to smile at Phillip. "Don't worry. We'll get to what you want to see," he tells him.

Raphael, standing shoulder to shoulder with Dick, answers, thinking Dick had addressed what he just said, “It’s not important. I’ve been there many times before. I can take Dean there another day.”

Luci shudders. “We’re _not_ going to the Bug House,” he protests. 

“I said Dean and I can go there another day, Luci,” Raphael chuckles. “And it’s not called the bug house.”

“I don’t care what it’s called. It’s got bugs in it. And snakes. Even worse, it’s got _bugs and snakes_!”

“So, a snack bar,” Aleksandr jokes.

Dean cackles at the joke, Dick sniggers, and Mar hides a smile behind a hand at Luci’s repulsion.

The vendor holds out the first burger. Gabe grabs it and gives it to Dean. Still giggling, Dean opens his mouth to take the first bite, but suddenly his eyes go wide and he freezes mid-motion.

Phillip grabs Dick’s arm. “It’s happening,” he says excitedly, staring at Dean who’s losing every shred of mirth, lowering his burger, looking in the direction Phillip has tried to make them go all day.

When their group falls quiet, Dick hears it. The mournful call that sounds almost human, but foreign enough that Dick had sorted it as not concerning him. It’s a low pack call, as if whoever’s making the sound has long since given up on being heard and instead is trying to self-comfort. The frequency is all wrong or one would’ve been able to hear it from a far longer distance.

“What’s the matter?” Mike asks.

Dean doesn’t answer him. Instead, he raises his head and responds to the mournful call with a Main’s call for her pack to come home.

“Eyy,” Aleksandr says, “Wolfcat cub with dead pack not live long in captivity,” he warns.

Gabe, standing next to Dean, sneezes with the stinging rage oozing from Dean with sudden force. Dean drops his burger and takes off running, still calling for the (presumed) wolfcat. For a split second, Gabe looks heartbroken at the burger on the ground. Then Phillip grabs Dick by the wrist and hauls away after Dean. Dick has no choice but to start running or he’d fall. Luckily Phillip lets go as soon as Dick starts running of his own volition.

Dean is fast. Dick's never realized exactly how fast. Dean's bragged about it, and always in the next breath bragged about Sam easily outrunning him at longer distances because of his giant strides and exceptional stamina. Dick wouldn’t be able to keep up, except Phillip is dragging him along the fastest route while Dean’s having to slow down to navigate where the sound is coming from.

Phillip squirrels over fences and, in one case, straight over the roof of a vendor’s booth with superhuman ease. Dick’s always been great at obstacle courses, yet he still has trouble keeping pace.

They make it there ahead of Dean. Dick hears something behind him and turns around to see Raphael come running while he catches his breath. “Why did you follow me, not Dean?” 

Raphael comes to a stop beside him, as winded as Dick. “Sasha said it was the wolfcat and you headed straight for the wolfcat enclosure. It made sense,” he answers.

“See? The boy’s got brains, he does,” Phillip chimes in and leans over the enclosure fence to look inside.

The wolfcat enclosure is one of the bigger enclosures. It’s not just a cage, since morphic species of all kinds are so hard to keep alive, and it would be impossible to keep replacing any rare species that seldom breed in captivity. So the wolfcat enclosure is a small island surrounded by a moat with high, slick walls. The concrete fence is topped with inward leaning barbed wiring that doesn’t seem to bother Phillip at all, and the island is covered with grass, a fallen tree trunk, and a couple of medium-sized boulders to give the wolfcat the illusion of privacy.

Phillip stares at one of the boulders with something akin to awe. Dick does a double-take. It isn’t a boulder. It’s a greyish brown wolfcat curled in on itself between two boulders, making the miserable, hopeless call for a pack that can’t answer.

Just like way back in time when Dick was at the Museum of Natural Science and saw the stuffed wolfcats, he’s starting to feel uncomfortable.

Dean comes thundering with Luci and Mar giving their all to catch up. Aleksandr trots after them in an easy, ground-eating lope, and Gabe and Mike come jogging far behind.

Dean goes straight for the fence and leans on it so he can see better. As soon as he spots the Juvie wolfcat he adds a mother’s comforting purr under his call for a missing pack member.

The wolfcat hadn't reacted to Dean's call, but when Dean starts the parental sound, the wolfcat's ears flick towards the sound. He raises his head and flares golden.

Dick watches as Dean starts to shift. Both Mar and Aleksandr follow his cue, pelting, shifting their appearance.

Phillip jumps up and down, clapping his hands, unable to contain his excitement. "Woohoo! It's happening! It's happening! I've waited centuries for this!" he enthuses like a kit on Donarrion's Gift.

Dick watches as Mike, Gabe, and Raphael turn their backs on the scene to guard, and Luci puts on his game face, ready to go full legal eagle, to go to intercept a security guard who comes running. 

He watches as Aleksandr unpelts and pelts again, giving the wolfcat visual cues of how it's done.

He watches the young wolfcat unfurl and slowly walk to the middle of his island, gaze locked with Dean. Dean breaks gaze to swiftly turn around, shove his hand into Gabe’s pocket, (“Hey! That’s my nougat!”), open the packet he stole, and turn back to throw the treat into the enclosure.

Phillip bounces up and down in glee, exclaiming, “Yesyes! Take it! We’re your new family now!”

Suddenly Dick realizes― 

“I realized something today…” Dick mumbles with a drowsy smile against Crowley’s chest.

Almost a full minute goes by before Crowley chuckles. “Here I was, thinking that wasn't a full sentence. But, by all means, love, congratulations.”

Dick giggles and shifts to lie fully on top of Crowley’s, crossing his arms on Crowley’s chest, smiling down at him. “How would you feel about moving to California?”

“With their weather? No thanks, love. And I don’t fancy flying cross country to work every week.”

“You like their weather, dear,” Dick states, amused.

“For _vacations_. I’m English, love. Can’t live without chilled rain,” Crowley jokes. “What brought this on?” His fingers trail up and down Dick’s spine in the cooling sweat after their love-making. They’ve been mated for seven years now and they’ve got everything going for them. They’ve always been friends foremost, but these last two years their feelings for each other had deepened significantly. Some days it feels like Dick’s heart might explode with how much he loves Crowley.

“I was approached by a Talon headhunter two weeks ago. He made me a very good offer that included you. We’d be living in one of the nicest parts of LA, housing paid for, good salaries, and opportunity for advancement,” Dick tells him. The very idea would’ve abhorred Dick a few years ago. But lately, he and Crowley… they’re working so well. Dick’s romantic feelings are taking precedence over the platonic. He’s started thinking about what it would be like to have a kitling. Crowley would be a great dad, sarcastic comments aside. But Dick’s realized that if they’re going to take the next step, it would be a good idea to get away from the Williams pack. Dick might cherish every moment with Crowley but he’s still wasting away, pining for Aiden, Lucifer, and Mike. Raphael also gets his heart racing far too often. And the few times he runs into Marlon, he’s in trouble. Marlon scares him. The man changes behavior at the flick of a switch. Cold, distant, calculating one moment, then graceful, persistently charming the next. He routinely tries to get Dick in bed again so Dick avoids him like the plague or he might fail to resist. There’s no point in giving in since back in college, Luci said he’d never let Dick be part of the pack. Gabe is the only one Dick _isn’t_ pining for. He refuses to respect Dick’s emotional distance so most of their brief encounters are playful and brotherly. But the epicenter of Dick's pining will always be Aiden.

"You want us to work for the Talons? I may be better than the red-eyed wanker but it doesn't mean I want to piss him off," Crowley chuckles. He and Luci might claim to hate each other but they’ve been obsessing over each other since college. Dick should’ve known prying them apart would be hard.

"Think about it, dear. We could―" A shadow falls over Dick's face, making him look up. 

Phillip stands there with his arms crossed, tapping a foot angrily. "Oh no, you don't. Not in this go-around," he says, then reaches out to grab Dick― 

“Oh, now you’re just flirting with me,” Dick says in response to a quip, and leans forward with a smirk, gaze locked with the English, _Conservative_ piece of turd lawyer the Talons had the gall to send to do their negotiations for them. 

MacLeod raises an eyebrow. “I suppose you want that in writing?” he asks about the deal they just agreed upon.

“I don’t kiss on the mouth,” Dick answers, clipping his scent to hide how mad he is. MacLeod is a thorn in his side and has been since the Talons got a hold of him. He’d been a college friend of Mike and Luci, but Aiden’s stupid son (when Luci messes up he’s Aiden’s son) had neglected to mention how good MacLeod is so Dick hadn’t known to extend a job offer. The Talons had, and MacLeod was infuriatingly loyal, refusing to be bought over to the Williamses. He kept finding loopholes in every law and every contract, and as a result, the Talons are infringing on Williams’s business territory with blatant arrogance. 

“Your loss,” Crowley says. “Well… I just so happen to have a standard rider with me,” he says and pulls out a scroll from his suit jacket. With a flick of his wrist he lets the bottom end fall to the floor and unroll like a cat playing with a toilet roll. Whoever prints their contracts in scroll format anyway? Fergus MacLeod does. It’s intimidating to be met with 14 feet of crucial, tiny print. Dick’s no stranger to long contracts, yet he still balks when seeing the long document with its compact, tiny writing. He’s not signing it without letting Luci and his team of lawyers go through it, but when the contract is written by MacLeod he has to read it himself too. MacLeod takes a magnifying glass out of his pocket. “Shall we get on with it? I do so love this part.”

* * *

Dick slams the door so hard the paintings rattle on the wall, and releases his scent, making Kyle, his assistant doubling as bodyguard, sneeze. “I _HATE_ him!” Dick exclaims, striding down the corridor like a thundercloud. “I want him _dead_!” He stops and spins around to poke Kyle in the chest. “Make it happen. Fergus MacLeod is not allowed to live longer than seven days. I’ll kill him myself if I have to.”

“But, Sir, if we kill the Talons emissary we might provoke a war with them,” Kyle protests at the same time as Phillip says, “Oh, you’ll have to kill him yourself. He’s a hard man to kill. But you’re organically linked so you’ll be able to.”

Dick hadn’t even noticed Phillip leaning against the wall with a despondent expression and his arms crossed over his chest. At 27, Phillip hasn’t presented yet. He _looks_ mature, but shows no signs of entering the next life stage anytime soon. “Shut up,” Dick snipes at Phillip.

Kyle thinks it’s to him and holds up his hands. “But, Sir, the Talons―”

“No,” Dick says harshly, pins Kyle with an angry gaze, and pokes him in the chest. “You listen to me, kit. The Talons obviously have forgotten the war. They think me an irenic ruler. As if I didn’t give the order that made Conservatives the minority they are today. Don’t think for one moment that I fear pissing them off. _They_ sent me a damned _Conservative_ emissary. This negotiation should rightfully have been conducted Main to Main, but ever since my little so-called scandal they’re too good to talk to me. _They’re_ the ones provoking a war, Kyle. Now you go, and you make that arrogant Englishman a dead man. That’s an order.”

Kyle stands to attention. “Yes, Sir.”

“Go!” Dick yells, then turns on his heel to stride away.

“You’re wasting time. You’ll lose two good men to hunting him. He’s wily, oh, yes, he is,” Phillip says. “You’ll have to do it yourself to get it done, mark my words.”

“And tell Phillip to shut up!” Dick yells without looking back.

“Who’s Phillip?” Kyle asks behind him.

* * *

Dick wakes up with a jerk. He’s starving, nauseous, covered in a cold sweat. The smell of blood still clings in his nostrils. He’s alone in bed but from below he can hear the steady chick-chicking of someone writing on a typewriter. He opens his eyes to see that he’s in his nest, muted daylight filtering in through the drapes. When he sits up he’s shaky, and there’s a lump in his throat. His hands feel sticky and he has to check to make sure there’s no blood on them. There isn’t, but it feels like it.

He takes a few deep breaths to calm down before he pushes the down button to lower the bed. Marcel’s working by his desk, but pauses when Dick comes into view. “Good morning. The Commander will bring your breakfast in about an hour. We expected you to sleep longer,” he says.

“I don’t have a bodyguard around?”

Marcel scowls at him. “What am I? An invalid?” he snipes annoyedly.

“Would you take a bullet for me?”

“No. Don’t be daft. But I’d put one in your assailant,” Marcel snarks.

Despite himself, Dick sniggers. “That’s probably more effective,” he agrees and climbs out of bed. He does his best to hide how rattled he is by his dream as he passes Marcel to go to the bathroom. In there, he takes care of his bowels then goes to wash his hands. He sees his reflection in the mirror and barely recognizes himself. His hair’s too long, he’s pale, and has dark bruises under his eyes. He splashes cold water in his face then looks at his hands. The lump in his throat grows, he can't swallow past it. His hands still feel blood-sticky even after a wash. He grabs the soap again.

Ten minutes later, Marcel finds him still frantically scrubbing his hands with soap and a nail brush in cold water. "Dick?" he asks with a concerned frown.

"I can't get the blood off," Dick answers through gritted teeth.

Marcel is quiet for several seconds. "The blood… that you're... seeing right now…?" he asks carefully.

Dick drops the brush, grabs the sides of the sink, squeezes his eyes shut, and hangs his head, chest heaving. He tries to calm his breath and stave off the rising panic. “No.” He shakes his head and swallows thickly. “I had a nightmare. And I can’t get the feeling to go away.”

Marcel relaxes. “Ah. What did you dream?”

Dick rinses off the last soap suds, shuts the water off, and sinks down on the floor. His hands are red all the way up to the elbows from the cold water and incessant scrubbing. “An incoherent mess. You won’t make sense of it.”

“Humor me,” Marcel bids.

"I was at the zoo with the family. But something was off. Mar was there but we weren't mated, and Lucifer and Mike were in their early forties, I think. I wasn't the Main. Phillip was there, and he was incredibly excited about a wolfcat. I needed to talk to you, but I couldn't because you were in trouble with the law. Then all a sudden I'm in this big glass house…"

"A greenhouse?"

"No. An apartment in a high-rise. But the outer walls, the living room table, cupboards, and side tables were made of glass. I was on the couch with my Conservative, English mate. I was just an employee of the Williamses and so was he. He was my best friend. I was trying to convince him to move to California and work for the Talons with me because I wanted to have a kit with him and was about to ask when suddenly Phillip showed up and grabbed me. He said 'Not in this go-around,' and in the next breath, I'm in a strange office, my office, 30 years after the war. I don't remember what just happened so I hate the English Conservative working for the Talons that I'm currently negotiating with. It's the same man I was mated to before Phillip grabbed me. After the meeting I ordered him killed, but nobody managed, so I had to do it myself. I break into his hotel room, and after I kill him, I’m flooded with memories of being a college roommate with him, getting mated to him―" Dick cuts off his rambling to bury his hands in his hair, eyes stinging, the first sob tearing out of him. “I murdered my best friend. It was Antoine all over again.” Now tears come rushing, making him sob so hard he can barely get air down his lungs.

Marcel stands there watching him cry for minutes until Dick’s calmed down enough to talk again, albeit still crying.

Miserable, Dick looks up at Marcel. “I killed your son, Marcel. He had me point-blank in that alley, aiming his crossbow at me. He flared, and his eye-whites turned black. I was terrified and when he started squeezing the trigger I reacted instinctively. If I’d remembered that he was blind when he used his heat vision I could’ve dove to the side of him and run away. But I didn’t. I murdered him. I murdered your son and now I _can’t get the blood off_ ,” Dick sobs and gets up, reaching for the soap and tap.

Marcel takes two long strides to intercept him, then sinks down on the floor with Dick when Dick’s knees give way. He holds Dick, rocking him, purring soothingly as Dick bawls for several more minutes.

“I murdered your son, Marcel, why are you even friends with me?” Dick sobs.

“Maybe I’m not,” Marcel answers with a tired smirk, thumb rubbing over Dick’s back.

Dick hiccups a little half-laugh. “I have a strong bond that says you are.”

“Darling, I was conspiring to kill my Main. A bond means nothing,” Marcel answers dryly.

Dick can’t explain why Marcel insisting to be ambiguous about their friendship is so calming, but it is. He chuckles humorlessly and, on impulse, heaves himself up to kiss Marcel on the mouth.

Marcel draws in a surprised breath. “Sweetkit, if you’re trying to seduce me, leading in with the phrase ‘I murdered your son’ isn’t the most effective way.”

“I’m not trying to seduce you. I love you,” Dick says and kisses him again. This time Marcel opens his mouth to receive the kiss, allowing it to be tender. “I love you,” Dick repeats. “You don’t have to be my friend. I’ll be your friend either way,” he says. He means it. And he realizes he’s extending the same offer to Marcel that Antoine once extended to him - friendship without reciprocation. "If you kill me, it'd be justified and righteous. I'd accept it."

Marcel rolls his eyes. But then it's he who cups Dick's cheek and leans in for a kiss. He halts a breath away from Dick’s lips. “Don’t mistake this for more than it is. Two people sharing a moment of joint longing for a dead mutual,” he says before closing the distance for another kiss. It's slow, tender, and incredibly intimate, and it chases away the worst of the sorrow. Back at the Academy they had a sexual relationship. Then, Marcel had kept exceptional emotional distance. He’d let Dick come closer emotionally in the last months but still kept a certain distance. Now, when they kiss, tasting each other’s tongues, learning the shape of each other’s lips, it’s more intimate than Dick could’ve imagined and has no sexual undertones whatsoever. They keep kissing for a long time until Dick’s finally calm. Marcel pulls away. “Don’t do that again. I don’t appreciate it,” he says sternly.

“I won’t,” Dick promises.

“Good. Let’s go see if the Commander is back. It’s his turn to babysit an over-dramatic, over-emotional, pregnant O. I don’t have time for this nonsense,” Marcel says and stands up, dusting himself off.

Dick can recognize a wall being slammed up in front of him as well as anyone. “What do you think my dream means?” he asks and accepts Marcel’s outstretched hand to get up.

“Most of the time dreams are just that; dreams. Imagery conjured by the sleeping mind to sort through what we experience during our wakeful time. I wouldn’t worry too much about it. All of us have nightmares these days,” Marcel answers.

Dick’s not sure. It had all felt so real. But he lets it go for now. 

A few days later, they can count themselves lucky they’d prepared for the worst and trained Marcel and a few others to do Dick’s job. Dick collapses mid-stride and what feels like eons of hell begin...

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little note about the glimpse of the future "present" we saw. Naturally, it won't play out the same as in Dick's dream. The future is never set in stone. Oh, and in case you were uncertain, yes, the scene with Crowley and Dick as mated is an unchanged memory of their peak, just before they started to grow apart. :)
> 
> This is the last trippy chapter since reality blending together is so tied into Dick's waning health, and, spoiler, he's about to get better soon.
> 
> Please comment, it makes my day! :D

**Author's Note:**

> You can see where this is going, huh? ;)


End file.
